


We can be heroes, just for one day

by justanotherboi



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, lowkey violence, some smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 78,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherboi/pseuds/justanotherboi
Summary: The main artery of Chinatown is Finch street, lined with shops and restaurants and apartments above them. It branches off into residential areas and other smaller shops, and it's pretty big. Little Italy is south from Finch on Carling street, and if you went west you'd hit Eastwood boulevard, where the eastern Europeans stay.In the midst of it is Kim Minseok, or Minseok Kim, or whatever order you prefer.And at eighteen years old, he has several epiphanies, enlightenments, realizations. And some of them aren't good.But some of them are.It's 1984, and Minseok needs Lu Han. And that in itself is an epiphany.





	1. Prologue

 

1981, the arena off Chinatown and Little Italy. A large portion of high school ringette and hockey games are hosted there. Early spring, but much more late winter. An encounter.

 

"Jeez, just look at that." Jongdae says.

The skating rink's got that stinging smell of ice that gets your throat dry and makes your mouth taste like metal. Minseok always thinks that his nose is about to piss blood out and gush out red with how dry the air is. It's a basic indoor rink, with used plastic boards around its perimeter and thin wooden benches around it. The mat on the sitting area is marred with little lines from skates.

Skating rinks just evoke that feeling of wearing a hockey helmet and having someone knock it for fun. There's that loud, dry noise of hard plastic getting smacked that echoes in your brain.

"Look at what?"

"The other team."

Jongdae's got his arm slung around Minseok's shoulder, who's halfway across Jongdae's lap in a warm heap of awkward teenage limbs. Jongdae himself is wearing Kris's old red jersey from the local team from when he was fifteen, dating from the seventies, exactly like they are now ('cept that he was taller and stuff), while Minseok's wearing red with "RICHARD" plastered in white on the back. The proud red C of the Montréal Canadians stands at his front, unblemished and proud, albeit old.

"What about them?" Minseok asks as he takes a sip out of orange Tang. He shuffles a bit on Jongdae's thighs to look at him. Puberty's definitely hitting his best friend. He's gained five centimetres over Minseok in the past months. Five's a lot, and who knows if it'll increase. Plus, his face is becoming sharper and more handsome in the grown-up way. And Minseok? Still short, still has baby fat in his cheeks, and still a bit soft 'round the thighs and belly and all around. Of course, it's hard to discern much of his face with the bruises and the black eye, but it's easy to spot the cherubic swell of pink cheeks and gummy smile.

"They keep lookin' at us. You." Jongdae enlightens Minseok with two hands grabbing his head and turning it towards the three oldest members of their hockey team’s rivals. It's gotta be a coincidence because the rink's at free skating after 8pm, and everyone's welcome. Still, there's something ominous about them looming on the opposite side of the bleachers. "Dunno why. Are they lookin' for scrap?"

"Scrap?" Minseok slides off Jongdae and tugs on one of his two braids, nervously glancing at the taller boys down the other end. "D'you think it was 'cause of Thompson? Listen, listen we didn't get, really, not really injured. I mean, him more, but look at me! I'm still walking, and, and it's fine. Not any stitches, and he didn't get stitches either!" Jongdae shrugs, but his eyebrows are tilted and his hand shakes a bit as he takes Minseok's Tang away to finish it.

"KIM!"

Could go for both of them, really.

Three tall, blond and brunet boys pile into the rink. They're wearing casual clothes and it makes their black hockey skates look clunky and clumsy, but it's with speed and agility that Minseok and Jongdae find them behind the clear plastic wall. Wordlessly, the pair step off the bench and walk towards the door, pushing it open. There's a few families near the opposite net, left behind by the ringette team that finished practice at 7:30pm. Their doom awaits at the other net.

Dunno why they decided to go in. Minseok shakes his head at their idea. Say, if they just stayed behind, they wouldn't have had to deal with them. Jongdae reaches behind to tug Minseok forward by his sleeve, and the shorter boy glides in front of him.

"Finch's FOBs." Artelle says. His name's Aaron, but they name each other based on what's on their jersey. He's vice-captain, which means that his position is mumbo-jumbo. He hears Jongdae behind him scoff at the nickname. Just because most of Sir Wilfrid Laurier Secondary School's student body comes from Chinatown doesn't mean that their mascot, the Finch, must be labeled as Fresh Off the Boat.

"Y'all." Jongdae replies.

It takes Minseok one push, two pushes, three pushes of his feet to meet the towering figure. It takes Minseok one breath, two breaths before he registers that Artelle is grabbing him by his collar. It takes one protest -- just a slightly loud wait! -- before he's shoved up against the boards, back to the plastic guards and skates dangling, the back of his blades hitting the white wall. It doesn't feel like getting a full-body check, or even getting boarded. It only hurts his armpits.

There's just fear.

"Thompson's one of our best rookies. You messed him right up. Heck, are you trying to ruin his career? We want him in varsity. What makes a kid like you go berserk like that?"

Minseok squawks in reply, frantically looking for Jongdae's eyes while he writes against the boards.

Barrett skates next to Minseok and pointedly says, "Thompson called him a chink. And a faggot."

Dunno, but it sounds stupid like that, like it's so simple and inoffensive considering all the nasty things flying around. Like, Minseok just stared at Thompson for a full ten seconds when that happened.

They met outside the corner store. He was mad for getting a penalty in their previous game and blamed Minseok, but like, he's not the referee. He can't do anything, whether it was fair or not. And maybe Minseok threw spring onions at Thompson for that. And maybe Thompson grabbed Minseok's arms, cursed when Minseok's grocery bags fell and hit his feet, and wheeled him over to pin him against the wall. He didn't even stop when Minseok said that he'd scream so loud, the Soviet Bloc down by Eastwood would hear him. And maybe Minseok kicked him where it counted. That's the reason why Minseok was insulted on false grounds. Feeling wronged, he head-butted Thompson square on. They went for it. Busted lip, broken nose, black eye, cracked skin on his- their knuckles, guns blazing.

"Why're you so offended? It's true."

Minseok chokes at the remark.

"Hey, there's kids here." Jongdae calls out. He sounds a bit restrained. Minseok tries to peer over Artelle's head and finds the families slowly draining out of the rink, maybe sensing imminent danger.

"I'm--" Minseok grabs at the hands on his collar, and he's slowly let back down on the ice after copious writhing. "I'm not even _Chinese!_ "

Artelle leans down by Minseok's ear, hands still in the font of his jersey. "What was that? I don't speak fag."

Minseok feels fire cut through his nerves, and he swings his right fist and connects with Artelle's jaw. The next movements are quick: Artelle recoils on the ice, slides some centimetres away before he's barrelling back towards Minseok with a growl. Minseok starts a sprint to his right, following the boards until he starts to cross the middle of the rink. He won't be able to reach the door in time, and his only options are to run it out or fight Artelle. Blood pours into his ears and sends them pounding, and he skates to the beat of his heart accompanied by the sharp sound of blade on ice. He turns around sharply and sends crystals in the air, charges towards the seventeen-year-old racing towards him.

It's ugly when they collide.

Minseok's met with a punch to his swollen, bruised face and immediately cries out. He grabs onto Artelle's hoodie for grounding, and they find themselves in an aggressive game of pushing and pulling on the ice. While pushing into him, Minseok manages to knee Artelle's right thigh, but a quick shove and punch to his (also) bruised ribs throws him off with a yell. He doesn't know what Jongdae is up to, and he can't even summon the time for any of those musings.

Artelle pushes forward again and pulls on one of Minseok's braids, hard enough to send him sliding past him with pained protests for his scalp, and two hands pull his jersey backwards; with the abrupt change of course, Minseok is sent hurtling to the ground.

His skates make a terrible screeching noise. It rings arid in his ears. Ringing. Ring ring, white flash in his eyes and thud, a sort of thud that makes his whole body go numb for a split second until it registers that his head fell first, ring ring.

He's mildly aware of Jongdae screaming, telling Minseok to watch out.

Why watch out? Watching, hey, why watching when he's just falling; fell, sorry, fell on his side, right there. He soon hears new voices that he recognizes: some guys from school or the neighbourhood. They keep shouting at the rival team. Are they fighting? It's so confusing, it's, what is Jongdae saying?

"Fucking bitch," Artelle spits out. He kneels to say that as he yanks Minseok's dishevelled hair back, staring into his panicked eyes. "Don't fuck with another one of my players, got it? Look at you -- you can't even speak English straight, how do you skate straight?"

Minseok gurgles a reply and whimpers when Artelle gets back up. He's bleeding from somewhere because his cheek falls back to rest on the cold ice and with his vantage point he sees these little droplets of red drip-dripping.

Things start to fade out, black spots crowding his vision.

He hears Artelle move, and it's only when he passes out that he realizes that the searing pain erupting from his thighs is because of two kicks. His last requiem is a small, pitched whine, but nobody seems to hear.

 

Minseok's eyes opened to the world, upwards as he laid on his back. Not a poetic beauty, but a grimy sort of world. Painted in the buildings of the alley, where red-brown bricks and telephone wires and windows and shanty roofing hung. The sky was grey, and where the sun hid behind clouds the sky turned white. His eyes opened to the world, clear through the swelling of his eyes, and his mind to…

To the warm feeling on his thighs. Correction: the _unusual_ warm feeling on his thighs, for his toes felt like ice and his skin was pebbled under his clothes. It trickled down his knee and he could feel it stick and slide between his two thighs when he clenched them together on reflex.

He tried to jerk his head down, but two hands suddenly gripped the side of his head, keeping him still. He opened his mouth to cry out, and the most broken sound -- how unnatural it was, how wretched and small and pitiful and all of it escaping from his dry lips.

"Hey there buddy, it's okay, it's okay, don't look down-" A voice said. It ran softly, like the fingers rubbing into his scalp. But in his state of confusion, it shook his bones and made his head pound. He tried to move around but found that he lacked the strength. His breath came out as white puffs, and above him he could discern the breath of someone else. However, he betrayed the voice above him and tried again, but to no avail.

He's able to turn his head sideways, the hands shifting the long black hair out of his face, and sees some blood-stained tissues on the ground beside them.

Something's off. Off. O-Ffff, with that, that F sound. Long F sound. O-f-f-f-f. 

"Wh-y-y-y," Minseok slurs as he rolls his head back straight, "I cannae look down?"

"Because I said so." The voice says, and its owner moves away. The hands remove themselves from his head, one of them moving down to hold his knee and lift it up. Minseok whimpers at the touch as the numbness of his body slips away temporarily to a vague sort of pain, and while still looking up to the sky, feels something wrap around his thigh. It's laid back onto the ground, and the same thing happens to his other thigh. Thirteen seconds pass, and numbness surrounds him again. Blissfully.

Soon the hands are back running on his scalp, and his head is slipped onto someone's lap. Warmly.

"Hey, heeeey," he drops his voice to a whisper. " _There's someone touching me_."

"T-that might be me?"

Minseok shifts his head backwards and catches sight of the voice's owner. There is, in fact, a stranger, which can be strange; for his strange touch on his strangely feeling body is foreign, and stranger than that his that a stranger foreign to him has his hands on him, foreignly. The stranger visibly panics when their eyes connect, and quickly he receives a nervous smile as cheap comfort.

"Hey there, quick question." He has a nice voice. Some people just have nice voices. Minseok nods. "Are you in pain?"

Minseok scrunches his face. The numbness in his thighs? If he stops to feel it, it's like a burn. A stinging burn. It, it doesn't feel good, no. It feels wrong.  He's suddenly extremely aware of every bruise on his body, old and new, and of how wrong and painful it seems.

But he also feels like someone sliced him open and turned him inside out.

Sliced open.

Minseok screams.

"Oh my god-- oh my god, fuck-- hey- dude-" The stranger's hands move to grip at Minseok's shoulders, grounding him into place as he writhed. Minseok kept screaming, wailing for some sort of help or divine salvation, anything stupid and anything magical, he couldn't care less. His head snapped to look down once it was free, and he realized that his pants were off. His thighs were a bit pink, and if he followed the searing pain erupting in his body, could see a strip of grey fabric (with a big, dark, concentrated red blotch on the side) wrapped around his left thigh. His right thigh has a similar bandage, and the idea of what's happened pains him so much; vivid portraits of huge gashes, with white bone you can see and red tissue gashing on the side, a canyon of the human body.

"Stay with me," The stranger pleads. "Stay with me. You're on four extra-strength painkillers. You're on four, four of those, right? All that medication in your system. Make you feel better?"

The idea sounds nice. Minseok blinks, shudders at the sudden chilly breeze passing by his bare legs, then nods.

"Kris, h-he went to get his car and he'll come back to get you at the hospital. And, um, Jongdae was it? He went to get someone named Kyungsoo. Your brother, right? Yeah. My name's Lu Han."

"O-okay." Minseok manages. He knows Kris well, he must've dragged Minseok out of the rink. He stops moving, trying to relax and return to numbness.

"Jeez, that was some fight." Lu Han seemed uncomfortable at first, but it's worry instead of panic in his eyes. He seems a bit more relaxed than he should in this situation, but it might be to calm Minseok down. Forget the pain. Numb. Numb. Comfortably numb. He’s trying to talk him out of the pain. "How old are you? Thirteen?"

"F…" It's getting harder to talk with the erratic way his heart beats, and he's trying to stop hyperventilating. "Fift."

"Fifteen, huh? Never could've guessed. Well, I'm sixteen. You're a bit young to be, dunno, taking on some guys like that? Takes all types I guess."

Yeah. Put it like that and it's odd. There's a bit of silence before Minseok realizes the immense gravity of his situation. His eyes feel like they might pop right out of his skull as he gasps.

"I… _I beat up a white guy_."

"Yeah, you did beat up a white guy. God. We all beat up white guys at least once in our lives, though."

"N-no… His parents are lawyers,"

"His parents are lawyers? Oh my god."

"I'm gonna, gonna go t'prison."

"You? Go to prison? Hey, don't be like that. Don't be a jailbird." Lu Han's hands were now cupping his cheeks. His thumbs passed under his eyes, gliding along his skin and tears with ease, and the touch only serves to fuel his emotion. Minseok draws in his bottom lip to suck on and finds scabs on the pink skin. "Don't cry there, birdie."

Minseok sniffles and weakly moves his hands to cover Lu Han's. The contact is warm, and it makes him feel better to have something to grip onto as his mind runs off with horrible thoughts. "If I don't go t'prison," he mumbles, "Maybe instead, in-stead Kyungsoo'll send me back."

"Where?"

He chokes back a sob. "Group home. You know, I--" Fresh tears flow hot from his eyes. "I tried really hard t'be good, n'I was good, I was good for real long, and Kyungsoo thought I was good too. H-he loved-- what if he doesn't love me anymore, an' jes' 'cause I wasn't good for a bit? D'you think I blew it?"

Lu Han looked at him strangely. Minseok couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, his mind blurry and failing to make his voice stop. Poor stranger.

Minseok starts writhing again, gripping harder on Lu Han's hands at the thought. Kyungsoo took Minseok in when he was ten. He's so young, just nine years older. And Minseok keeps being bad, Minseok got his thighs busted, and maybe next time Minseok will end up in a body bag. But he wants to be--

"Good, birdie, you're good enough."

Lu Han smiled, and Minseok felt as if it was true; and even as he slipped into darkness, he felt safe, with those hands stroking his tears away and his head in that stranger's lap.

 

Kyungsoo laid out the futon on the floor and promised Minseok that he'd lay with him after he finished business on the phone. They kept it in the bathroom, perched on the counter and within arm's reach from the shower for security purposes.

(Between getting shanked by a serial killer in the shower and getting electrocuted after calling the police, the best choice was obvious)

Lying flat on his back, legs still as to not disturb his injury, he watched the mint phone cord extend and contract on itself as Kyungsoo twirled his finger in it, nodding solemnly. Coulda nodded like that for some sad news, bad news, for the hard times and the hurting, or just a nod for something simple. Nod here, nod there, nod to how Minseok can't walk anymore without fearing that he'd split his thighs all open again.

Thirteen stitches.

Ten attempts to get blood stains off.

Six get-well cards.

Two pink tulips. One card with "Lu Han" written on it.

Baekhyun has appropriated one of the tulips and wears it behind his ear as he works on graphing homework. He's Kyungsoo's step-brother and he and Minseok like each other A Considerate Amount. Minseok sighs into the pillow, cheeks flushed by a fever, and patiently waits until the receiver clicks as it's put down. There's a hockey match playing on the radio, but he can't follow English well with the way fatigue wears him.

Minseok tilts his head towards Kyungsoo as the man sits down on the futon. He brushes his hand on Minseok's long, uneven bangs, and scowls.

"Suspended."

"But it wasn't on school grounds." Minseok says before shrinking back into the pillow.

"No," Kyungsoo sighs. He squishes Minseok's cheeks together. "From hockey. You got banned. Not even benched, Seok, you got flat out banned from the sport, somehow. Fuck, you got his parents pissed off. Look, I told you to punch second. That's how I got past high school. Don't strike first, or else it's all your fault, you big dumbo, both for Thompson and Artelle."

"I'm sorry."

Kyungsoo looked at Minseok and shrugged with his mouth, like some sort of judgement at his apology. The corners of his mouth suddenly twitched up after a moment, and he barked out a laugh. "You're sorry? Shit, that Lu Han kid wasn't lying when he said you had a whole breakdown over this. Man, that kid's a wreck, though. Just moved in, Kris knows him. Guess what, his brother's in the «local business». Whoop-dee-fucking-doo, you were taken care of by a relative of the Chinese mafia. He even sent you flowers. Boy, he got a lot out of you when you were blabbing off from shock and what, four Tylenols? Even I'm jealous, you didn't even say a word on our first meeting."

"I don't even remember it, stop teasing me ab-"

"He sure as hell didn't forget it. Look forward to seeing him at school."

"Can't you, you just sleep here, right here with me?" Minseok flings the covers off himself and makes sure to give a pointed glare at Kyungsoo after whining. The man complies with a small smile.

Curled up to Kyugnsoo’s side, he looks at the pink tulip in a glass, standing with water at mid-stem. And he wonders if it truly meant anything when the boy named Lu Han called a stranger "good".

 

o.0.o

 

1983, the underground train station. While it undergoes renovations, people say that it looks like a bathroom with its tiled walls. Mid-summer, but not a night. A departure.

 

Lu Han's parents were afraid he'd end up like his brother, but they didn't seem to want Lu Han either, seeing that he was sent to live with Kris in the very same Chinatown they so despised because of their oldest son. So instead they thought that the cadets were a good idea. The reserves too. And army discipline will turn Lu Han into a man -- not even a righteous man, but a Man Who Knows His Place. It didn't do much, so they got desperate. They had lots of ideas of new places to send him to.

And especially when Lu Han sets the neighbour's dog house on fire in his sleep (the dog came out when she caught sight of Lu Han and was not harmed in any way), is caught gambling and some other petty things that don't _exactly_ constitute as crimes, his parents are very eager to send him Away Away. Not even Away. _Away Away_.

Eighteen years old and with an old duffel bag over his shoulder, Lu Han waits for the train that will take him to Toronto. Then he'll take another train, and another, until he gets to Vancouver. His parents want him gone to some far-off relatives, and he'll work in their moving company.

Seventeen years old with a brand-new pair of sunny yellow high-top Converse, courtesy of a growth spurt, Minseok thinks that he's doing a great job out of not looking miserable. The look on Lu Han's face tells him no, apparently. They're next to a fat pillar, looking at the big clock on the wall, and Minseok sighs into Lu Han's shoulder. Dumb Lu Han who _must_ leave, dumb Lu Han who can't even _stay_ to watch Minseok graduate, dumb old Lu Han who can't say _No_ to his parents and dumb Lu Han who can't read his mind and hold his hand.

Lu Han cleared his throat and interrupted their grieving.

"You know what's the saddest thing?" Lu Han asked, leaning against the pillar. Minseok followed suit and frowned, said No as he tugged on his braid. "Really? Guess I only felt that way."

"Don't play me." Minseok pushed him off the white tiles and grimaced. Lu Han laughed with his stupid, ugly, contorted face.

"Saddest thing is that I think that I think I'll miss you a lot."

"Then jes' don't leave."

Lu Han, with his horrid, disgusting, lonely smile passed on traitorous lips, brushed Minseok's bangs away from his face and just, dunno, just smiled. With his sad eyes. They weren't red, but they glistened. And his melancholic, lingering touch. He brought his hand down to the curve of his face and sighed, with the saddest smile Minseok had ever seen and the softest touch to his cheekbone.

All he could feel was reciprocation, of sorts.

The bell on the charm fixed on Lu Han's duffel bag jingled when the wind swept through the tunnel, and soon the yellow lights of the train were reflected against the station's walls. The trance broke from Lu Han's pretty eyes, and soon he grinned.

"Don't go around punching people, birdie. Think of me sometimes."

"Write." Minseok implored, tugging on Lu Han's sleeve as if it was the only thing keeping them together.

"I'll try."

"No, you hafta."

"If we write, I won't get to hear your cute broken English."

"Stop," Minseok bit out, "Quit joking."

"Come on birdie, don't be such a crybaby." Lu Han softly said as he peeled Minseok off when the train doors opened. He was quick in waving goodbye, quick with the doors that shut behind him.

Minseok does swear that he saw a tear fall on Lu Han's cheeks right after he mockingly blew Minseok a kiss goodbye and waved behind the windows, just as the train ran past the platform.

That's just natural, Minseok thinks, because they were best friends, right?

And he scolded himself for staying crouched at that fat pillar of the train station, head hanging low with a wobbling bottom lip.

 

o.0.o

 

1984, the topmost apartment of a three-storey building in Chinatown. The ground floor hosts a popular Dim Sum restaurant, second to Jade Empire's Dim Sum Palace. Early summer night, and rain spells are forecasted. Some reminiscing.

 

Tired from exams and graduation, Minseok and Baekhyun spent the first two weeks of summer vacation completely lethargic (even if they were getting paid for full-time babysitting Mark and part-time Sohee), wiped out on the floor of the apartment with the stereo-tape player and the fan, or alternatively on the roof; it was those buildings that didn't have a sloped roof, and the area was nice to soak in the sun and be alone. Music hung heavily in the air, puppet to their mood.

The plastic of the white fan became yellow with the heat, which was off-putting. They couldn't do anything about it, though, so they laid on the sticky coolness of the vinyl floor and watched it sweep its head left to right, left again and peering to the right; and whir left, right, again. Baekhyun crawled forward with a tape in his hand to put into the cassette player.

"Which one?" Minseok asked, spread eagled and eyes on the 99 of Gretzky's jersey printed on the poster tacked to the ceiling.

"The trot mixtape."

"Th’one you made for your mom's birthday?"

"There ain't any other, dumbass."

"So, the one with the bad audio."

"Yeah," Baekhyun sighed. He closed his eyes and laid next to Minseok, his head lying by his waist. "Yeah, love that one."

The first song of the track is a love song, recorded in the 30s. It's about the bitter tastes of hardships and sweet tastes of love, told in the trembling voice of the male singer. It's slow, but the choppy sounds are stringent, trickling down into their ears because of its familiarity -- and memories of watching Baekhyun's mother at the dry cleaners before she moved out of city for a better paying job flood in.

"Set the setting," Minseok tells Baekhyun. He shuts his eyes away from the poster and shuts off all sounds, except for the music, the baby monitor in his right hand, and the mix of reality and fiction from Baekhyun's mouth. "Take me away. Far 'way, way out."

The maestro takes a deep breath and searches deeply for a place, a person, a story, as the tape keeps playing. He sees a story, a human story in the music, and feels it pulsing through his body; he becomes it, and its reality is just as true as the sweat that makes him stick on the floor. It pours into him as emotion; and to Minseok, his audience, he threads it into words.

Baekhyun licks his lips. "Hawaii. Sugar cane plantations. Some before, maybe ten years before Pearl Harbour, get me? Chinese man. It's been what, eight years since he's been here? Works the longest shifts in the blazing sun. Just keeps choppin', hackin', savin' money for his wife (picture bride, now pregnant) and his mom; village in- in- in…"

"Guangdong. Somewhere." Minseok supplements. His approval is a nod and a hum.

"Yeah. Every month for his mom. Tonight, he's heading out to see his friends while the wife's sleeping. So, he walks out from his house on the plantation to go down the Chinese quarters. Goes out to gamble, 'cause you know, that's just what the guys do for fun. "

"Shouldn't he be saving money?" Minseok interjects before getting hushed.

"I'm getting there."

The song plays, uninterrupted, for 15 seconds; dramatic pause or Baekhyun trying to let a sense of irony get to Minseok, he doesn't know. Baekhyun scoots a bit closer to him before resuming.

"He never gambles, see, but tonight's different. Pockets feel heavier than usual, and hark! Alas," Baekhyun adds in quickly at the end before deciding he likes the sound, so he throws his head back on the floor and groans out a very long _Alas!_  befor resuming with "What terrible fate, and how wretched -- wretched," He punches that word out again, "Wretched it is! His savings, through meagre, never been higher, and his spirits never lower. And he gambles, smokes, plays his cards with a heavy heart to forget that it's a few dollars too much!" Baekhyun is crying out by now, an arm thrown above his eyes and a hand clutching his heart through the fabric of his navy and yellow striped shirt. "For at the end of the month, they'll be no one in that village in Guangdong to receive money and love; empty house and an empty body, and as his friends get heated over someone cheating, he wishes that his mother's soul finds rest."

In a new world, Minseok screws his eyes shut even harder: the tropics prevail darkness, the humid night and this song, this exact song playing is present at the back through clinking glasses of alcohol, the thick haze of cigarettes, and cards being dealt. He conjures the sorrow of this man, conjures empathy for a piece of shared imagination.

The fan sounds loud in his eyes when the notes of the song suddenly seize and the tape auto-ejects itself like it likes to do. Baekhyun sighs.

"Just when it was a good one, huh? And people praise techonology. Buncha dweebs." he grumbles while stretching his limbs out and resting his arms above his head, on Minseok's stomach.

"Mmm."

"Want another tape?" Baekhyun asks without expecting an answer since he's already crawling over Minseok's body to get to the bookcase. They have ten minutes until Kyungsoo climbs the metal staircase at the back of the building after emerging from the kitchens of Sun's Dim Sum House, unlocks the door and chides them for being useless and pant-less -- so, Minseok lets the other boy have his fun. The yellow incandescent lightbulb of the lamp next to him is making a high-pitched noise, but before he can address it Mark gurgles through the baby monitor and it's kind of cute. He's not a baby anymore, but it's a useful thing to carry around. "Ooh, I know a good story for this one." Baekhyun cuts through.

Enticing, Minseok thinks, mostly for the sound of the word. He hears the door click shut, a button be pressed, and Hotel California slowly seeps into the room, taking over the atmosphere and pressing the lazy satiation of hearing a favourite song into Minseok's body. It starts below his ribcage because Baekhyun's head rests there, in the crook between the barrel of his ribcage and his hips. It crawls under his shirt to kiss his skin in goosebumps and make him forget about the sweat, and it dances on the skin of his bare legs and thighs. And slowly, slowly, as the refrain starts, it makes a smile bloom.

"I like this song."

"Yeah, you do."

"What's th'story?"

Baekhyun laughs airily, digging his head into Minseok's waist and tickling him. "Mmm, there's this boy."

"Yeah?"

"He's cute. Every Thursday, he goes to the local church with three dimes. He doesn't like Sundays because of all the people," as Baekhyun talks he imagines their own church; all simple and white and unspecial. He asks what the boy is wearing. "White t-shirt, blue collar. Kinda turquoise blue. Good shirt, kind of a sporty look. Might be the top to his P.E. uniform. It's also summer, so shorts, and his hair in a braid; reaches right to his waist, going left right, left right, like a damned pendulum. His dimes are in his pockets and they jingle a bit." Baekhyun takes a pause before asking, "Hear them jingle?"

"Yeah, I do."

"That's right, that's right. So, he goes in, and walks to the prayer candles; drops three dimes in to pay."

"That's three candles. «All proceeds go to Taiwanese militants»" Minseok quotes.

"Exactly. Now the boy's got three prayers. Smell those candles in the air; all those wishes and prayers floating around as smoke and dripping down as white wax. Anyways, he takes three sticks -- the tall skinny candles -- from the basket and sinks two into the sand of the rack, lights the third with another lit candle nearby. First prayer," Baekhyun sits up and shimmies next to Minseok, mouthing some lyrics when he rolls over to his side and does that stupid thing where he props his head on one hand and straight up leers. "For his mother, all up in heaven; never had a memory of her, but mother is mother and son is son."

Minseok looks up into the mirthful eyes of Baekhyun's propped head, understanding who exactly the boy is. He gives the ghost of a laugh and covers his face, mouth twisted in a wide grin.

"Second- hey, arms down! Arms down! Second prayer! That the Edmonton Oilers win a second Stanley Cup for the '84-'85 hockey season!" Baekhyun shouts his statement with vicious laughter, and soon Minseok squeals when cold hands sneak under his shirt to tickle him. They grapple on the floor and throw a couple of fake punches and Baekhyun starts pulling on Minseok's hair, drowning out a solid minute of Hotel California. From above, Wayne Gretzky in his Oilers jersey watches two teenage boys fight in a summer evening.

Once they've given up on trying to knee each other's balls, Baekhyun licks his lips to finish.

"The third prayer -- _cough_ \-- now, that's the greatest mystery, isn't it? Not even I know it. Not even Kyungsoo, his guardian; not even Jongdae, not even Kris, Mark, nor Sohee -- _argh my dick_ \--." After getting over himself, he clears his throat and resumes his allegedly seductive pose, staring at Minseok expectantly. When he receives no answer, he sighs into the last minute of the song, and time is running out to complete the story. "You gotta finish one of our stories for once, Minseok."

He feels a bit embarrassed, but he tells himself that it's only Baekhyun, with his black hair tied back into a two-inch long ponytail that juts out of the top of his head, smiling foolishly. And such a prayer doesn't forcibly mean what his heart intends it to be when processed by someone else.

The fan sweeps left when he parts his lips. "The third, it's, 'cause, you know…"

"No shame, no shame, just shoot."

He clears his throat. "The third prayer is for another boy to come back."

"And," Baekhyun leans in close, his arm supporting his weight next to Minseok's head. He's effectively caged in, forced to answer the impeding question. "Just who might that boy be?"

The dying notes of the song play during his hesitation.

     "A boy named Lu Han."

Baekhyun smiles, combs his hand through Minseok's thick black hair, and sing-songs " _I knew it_."

"Did you?"

"Of course, I know all. You know what else I know?"

It starts to rain outside. The asphalt of the roads, with all its dips and bumps and potholes, will turn into a black mirror; the orange streetlights will reflect like golden drops on water, and through their open windows the humid air will drift upon their sleeping bodies, no doubt. And Mark will sleep through the rain, but Sohee (she'll be dropped off soon, as her parents leave for night shifts) will wake up and push Baekhyun away to sleep next to Minseok on their shared futon. Kyungsoo sleeps like a log, nothing could bother him. Minseok hopes that he won't get too wet as he climbs the stairs to their apartment.

Baekhyun pauses the conversation to look outside briefly before turning his attention back to Minseok. "He'll be back. Stop being such a baby about him leaving."

"Mm, you're being mean to me."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

 

Kyungsoo unlocks the door, puts the black plastic bag filled with a sizeable number of leftover steamed buns on the ground, and watches his half-brother bring Minseok into another round of tickling. He bolts the door, swipes at the three slide-locks, places the free end of the four chain-locks into their tracks, and finally toes his shoes off. When he walks over to Minseok and Baekhyun, the former rolls onto his back and gazes upwards, hair a mess on his face, but he looks up like the world was rinsed clean of his dirt and he could finally see the reflection of beauty.

Baekhyun pulls Kyungsoo down, and they laugh into each other on a hot summer night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this does take place in canada, but idk where or why  
> prologue is just 2 establish the general stuff and setting  
> -Maurice Richard is the classic canadian hockey player aesthetic, played for the Montréal Canadians around the 40's.  
> -Wayne Gretzky is known as one of the best hockey players. Some of his iconic times were with the Edmonton Oilers team.  
> -Sir Wilfred Laurier was a canadian prime minister in the early 1900s. A lot of schools are named after him.
> 
> since this takes place in the 80s racism is real homophobia is real and so is the HIV crisis so yeah slurs  
> chansoo gets relevant later hang on  
> thank you a lot for reading this! i hope its good?


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok realizes more shit and gets kissed.

 

1984, summer. It wasn't a remarkable season apart from the heat wave. Just lazy. There were, however, kisses.

* * *

 

_"The highest temperatures in ten years have been recorded this week. We advise that you stay indoors, especially children and the elderly."_

_"We haven't seen a heat wave like this in July in years, have we?"_

_"No, we haven't! Even more interesting is that--"_

 

Baekhyun chokes on rice loud enough to cover the rest of the news. At least he's covering his mouth.

"You okay?" Minseok asks.

"Wrong pipe." Baekhyun waves his hand to dismiss his concern. "Time to die."

"Well."

"Let's change the channel. Shake things up a little-- Sohee! Stop fighting over food with Mark! You don't see me clanking my chopsticks with Minseok, do you? Gosh, learn some table manners. And eat your rice-- no, even if you're not hungry, you finish your rice. Do you know how much a grain of rice is worth? Huh? A hundred drops of blood and sweat, okay? We don't waste rice." Baekhyun sighs and drops his metal chopsticks down with a clatter, tutting loudly at the two children seated around the low table. He takes the remote in his hand and flips through the channels until he hits the children's programme.

The boy's been feeling some pressure lately: he's been submitting small articles and short stories to newspapers and things like writing magazines, little publishing houses, the works.  It's not working out great, but it's been working out to some extent; never a success but never a failure, and the blurred lines are maddening. Minseok blows air out of his mouth when he thinks about Baekhyun's frustration.

He gets up to put some of the dishes on the counter to wash later, nudging Baekhyun with his foot to join him. The boy wraps himself around Minseok and immediately laments his fate, having been yet again rejected yesterday. "Put me in a good mood," Baekhyun cries into Minseok's neck. "Talk to me about your love life."

Minseok blinks as he sets the bowls down on the counter by the sink. "What love life?"

"You have one. It's very interesting. You just don’t know it yet. First love? Changmin. First heartbreak? When he moved to Toronto for university. Second love? Seungho. Second heartbreak? When you realized he was a bit too old for you and that being fifteen, it was kinda illegal. Then you realized it was the same for Changmin. Huge existential crisis. Huge." Baekhyun lists off from his fingers, smiling goofily at his last statement. Minseok finds himself blushing, avoiding eye contact and shuffling away to take more dishes with him. His objections are for his pride and not to contest what Baekhyun has said -- he can't say it's a lie, because it isn't exactly one. And he hates it.

"Hey, come to think of it, you've never kissed anyone -- right? As someone who draws important inspiration from your love life, I think that this is relevant development. You know, I'd bet that half of the neighbourhood's guys would line up just to kiss you. You're cute. Dunno about the girls. But, hey, that doesn't really bother you, does it?"

Minseok snorts. "Doesn't bother me? Doesn't every guy wanna get kissed by a girl?" He looks at Baekhyun's like he's stupid while taking Sohee's empty bowl from her distracted hands, her eyes glued to the small T.V.

"Maybe not you."

"Stop it. I mean it."

Baekhyun does look a bit sorry as he pulls himself off the counter, eyes flickering over to the newspaper. He's not the type of guy to take a newspaper and flip it over to check the sports section or the comics: he works it through from top to bottom, only skipping the obituaries. Jongdae, on the other hand, heads straight for them. And it sounds morbid, it truly does, but he believes that he should pay his respects and let that money the family paid to print out a short memoir in black ink be worth it. Minseok only reads the bigger titles and articles, and then skips to the end where the advice columns are because people live really impressive lives in there, really, while a middle-aged woman named Deborah or Sandra or something tells you how to get over your misery.

He watches Baekhyun finger the corner of the page while he lifts an eyebrow at the headline. It's a trashy newspaper, so it must be scandalous: Minseok edges closer to him to read it, and he feels a weight in his stomach when his eyes process the big font.

AIDS IS THE WRATH OF GOD, VICAR SAYS.

It feels like he's swallowing a stone when he puts Sohee's bowl in the sink with a huge clatter, trying to dispel his uneasiness. Baekhyun pushes the newspaper away and clears his throat, joining Minseok by the sink and taking the dish soap out.

"Absolute trash. I swear that I'll never write anything like that if I ever get published. I won't. It's, it's--" Baekhyun squirts out the soap angrily, face scrunched up in anger with his eyes continuously roving back to Minseok and re-igniting, stoking the fire that burns in his pupils. "Fuck."

He doesn't like to see Baekhyun angry, it's very unusual. Slowly, he pries the dish soap away from his hands and rubs his arm, things left unsaid and proven true lingering in the air: but Baekhyun still loves him. And that's why he's like this.

"… First kisses kick-start the romantic life, yeah?" He starts quietly, hand coming up to pinch Baekhyun's earlobe. "Teach me how."

"Mmm."

"Hey, come on. No one's sad, even if y'call me a crybaby I'm not sad. Not ever. M'not." Minseok tries to coax a smile out of Baekhyun. It takes a couple of more tries and some tickling before the whole affair is shrugged off, the pair throwing soap bubbles at each other in the kitchen and laughing like it was nobody's business.

"First kisses are shit." Baekhyun laughs out. He claps in the air at his own comment and shakes his head, maybe at a memory. "No one seems to get that."

"Why? It's a kiss, s'romantic."

Baekhyun leans over the counter to peek at the T.V. Sohee seems to have switched channels, settling at a movie that looks and sounds like a rom-com; the music is cheesy as heck and Minseok wants to cry at how terrible it is. His loose hair gets tugged at and he promptly looks over at Baekhyun.

"Romantic track. Love that, we're setting up the mood. Okay, so, close your eyes: imagine… the first snow. It's only a little below zero and the snowflakes are huge, you know, those big ass clumps that fall and twirl in the air? The best snowflakes there are. You're right at the sunset, with the light pink and orange and intense. And see? In front of you stands the…. Uh, girl of your dreams. See her?"

Minseok imagines a vague outline of a person without a face. He still nods.

"You're with the prettiest girl in the world, and you're about to tell her that you like her. Blah blah blah, you say it with the right timing, the right mood, the right lighting that makes you look really cute. And… he looks at you like you're world to him. And you look up to him. This is the time you're supposed to kiss." Baekhyun's voice takes a whimsical air, twirling a strand of Minseok's hair with his perfect, model standard hands. He sounds almost longing, bringing up a hand to brush at Minseok's pink lips and stroke his chin as if Minseok were his child.

"You look into his eyes and you can feel it, you look at the way his hands move to cup your cheeks, and like, you know what's supposed to go down. Your heart's feelin' it, especially when you look at his face illuminated by that orange light. You see it? That pretty light where shadows don't exist, and his face looks so soft and adoring, not loving, because adoring is so, so much more."

There are a pair of doe eyes looking at Minseok, twinkling with the setting sun, and he finds himself staring back at a handsome face; with a nose that has a gentle slope, and cold, pink cheeks, a defined jawline and subtle cheekbones.

"This is your first kiss."

The orange-lit boy in front of him smiles, making Minseok's gut tingle weirdly.

"But he's taller than you." The narration suddenly drops a few octaves lower to a much more regular tone of voice, the phrase punctured out quickly, as-a-matter-of-fact-ly. "Okay, you can deal with that. So you go on your tippy toes-- but wait! He started leaning down, too. You crash each other's faces by accident. It's a travesty. He laughs it off, but you know, you feel it in your bones: you fucked up. Now you're all jittery and embarrassed so imagine every single mistake you can make and will make. Nose bumps. Hands in the wrong place. You breathed weird. And if you two ever manage to kiss, you wouldn't even know how! How stupid is that?"

Heck, it only happened through the power of a cheesy love song and Baekhyun's power of suggestion, but Minseok is burning up with embarrassment.

"Basically, save the second kiss for your first love, Minnie Mouse. You wanna impress your prince charming? Try to know how to kiss. Kiss someone you're comfortable with. By number two you've got some know-how, but you've still got that chaste feel about you,"

"Wait, wait a minute--" Minseok quickly interjects, pushing himself of the counter and holding his hand out.

"Hope you learned a lot today." Baekhyun dismisses, laughing with Mark at the T.V. program.

"Baek, when did you switch to male pronouns?"

It's an awkward hitch in pacing and Baekhyun's hand suddenly throws the newspaper onto the floor. It feels weird for someone to acknowledge that he's gay, especially in times like these, but so far Baekhyun's just proved to be nothing but okay with it. Minseok just takes the non-verbal cue and feels a rush of affection for the second time that day.

"Baekhyun-oppa, if Minseok-oppa gets married to a boy, will he wear the dress?" Sohee suddenly pipes up. She's still facing the T.V., but it's painfully obvious that she's not paying attention to the screen.

"Yes, with the veil too. Kyungsoo-hyung will walk him down the aisle. Do you want to be the flower girl?"

"Why the dress," Minseok whines. "I'm still a guy."

"Well Lu Han would look stupid in a dr--"

He kicks Baekhyun's butt hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground. "I hate you."

"Jesus Louisus, you're so fucking aggressive!" Baekhyun bites back. They glare at each other for a good amount of time before Baekhyun realizes that he has responsibilities, and soon gets himself and Sohee dressed to drop her off home. He says his usual "See you later, alligator", but Minseok doesn't reply with his usual "In a while, crocodile."

He thinks about The Second Kiss while brushing Mark's teeth. He thinks about it when he's rummaging to find Mark's briefs with the rocket-ships on them. It's a weird thought warped by "delayed emotional maturity" according to Kyungsoo, and although Minseok can't say if he really needs that second kiss, he's curious.

Like any Thursday, he goes out with Mark to the church to light up his candles, facing the heatwave despite all warnings. Neither of them can stay cooped up inside for too long, anyways. Once they arrive, the small boy drops the dimes in the donation box. Minseok lights up the first candle.

"Put your hands together, like this." Minseok tells Mark, hands palm-to-palm. "And close your eyes, okay?"

"Like this?"

"Yeah. Now repeat after me: Please try to let the Oilers win the next Stanley Cup."

"Please try, to, to let the Oilers win the next Stanley Cup. But isn't that in winter?"

"If we really want it to happen, we gotta plan ahead, Mark."

A group of old women scoff behind the pair, muttering about wrong ways of praying. He doesn't think they deserve to look at him from above when they're only in the church because it's one of the only cool places in the neighbourhood.

"Are you making another candle?" Mark asks as Minseok lights another wick. He nods and brings a finger to his lips. Mark mirrors the action and stops talking. They repeat the same steps for the third candle, Minseok silently praying, which sounds more like wishing when you consider what he's asking for. He knows that among those wishes, he asks for Lu Han to be back, but he's supposed to come back anyways; it's like he's scared to have him run away and slip through his fingers, parting with thoughts and feelings left unsaid.

He doesn't ask for much. He'd settle to demurely holding Lu Han's hand, even.

The flames flickered when the big, wooden doors heaved open; they groaned and parted ways, letting the white light pool into the church, almost obscenely as it stood in sharp contrast to the warmth of the building's darkness. Mark cooed and tugged on Minseok hand, pointing to the taller candles where melted wax pooled around them, the tiny breeze rippling across the small surface. He looked down at where their hands interlaced, Mark's much smaller hand holding onto Minseok's palm and staining it with sweaty green marker. He liked holding hands. It felt warm.

Baekhyun was the first to hold his hand in a warm way: not to restrain or guide Minseok, but in a way to say he loved him. And you could walk on by miles with someone and feel that they're with you, and you could lead and be led with no particular objective in mind. One time, nine years old and hands gripping each other tightly, they had wandered all the way to the ice-cream stand on Crescent street, a few ways from home.

Kyungsoo, who never was as clingy as Baekhyun but, as Minseok hopes, loves him too, used to hold his hand to swing it around and to check his fingernails (he had a bad biting habit). His hands were security and something nice to fall back into. And he holds it now when they watch T.V. or listened to the radio, too. 

Hand holding was apparently to be restricted to just Baekhyun and Kyungsoo. The eldest once sat Baekhyun and Minseok on the iron stairs at the back of the building when they were 11. It had been a year since Minseok was a part of the family, and two and a half since he'd known Kyungsoo and Baekhyun. It was a spring afternoon and the metal had plenty of time to take in the sunshine and warm up their bottoms. Kyungsoo leant on the rail, dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it, before giving them Vastly Important Updates on Puberty.

You could not just hold another guy's hand. It's not well seen.

Minseok kept that in mind when he was in the locker rooms with Lu Han after school when he was sixteen. He was walking on one of the benches while Lu Han sang "sixteen going on seventeen" to practice for musical theatre class, with Minseok's hand in his, then his hands on Minseok's waist, lifting him off the bench and giving him a twirl (doing the dance moves from the film would have been too difficult). Minseok found himself not so much bothered by it, instead laughing when he crossed his legs around Lu Han's waist at some point and let himself be carried around the locker room. That was that, and Minseok held Lu Han's hand.

The church's doors closed with a hush, the candles now back to their soft glow, no harsh shadow behind them to expose them; Mark's cherubic face was painted in soft hues, and Minseok pinched his little cheeks. Hand holding meant a lot of different things, and this meant happiness.

Kissing, Minseok thinks, shouldn't be so different. You don't have the first hand holding or the second hand holding, you just... hold hands. Then again, it's not rocket science. You don't exchange spit. You don't have to figure out what the rest of you does in the meanwhile. Okay, so kissing isn't like hand holding. He thinks back on the situation Baekhyun painted out and reiterates: kissing is difficult. 

His eyes travel to the wooden statue of Jesus crucified, which would look sad if the artist didn't screw up his eyes. Instead, with nails in his hands and feet, the Son of God is looking simultaneously to the heavens and down to hell. He doesn't know if this counts as a blasphemy or not.

People like Jesus probably never had to worry about awkward first kisses.

Mark shrieks when he trips over his own two feet, earning stares from the handful of people in the church. It snaps Minseok out of most his thoughts and he scoops the boy up, bowing to apologize as he backs out and pushes the big doors open once more. They head home like that, Mark balanced in Minseok's arms and chatting away about the heat and how horrible it is. The boy waddles in his briefs in the apartment, and Minseok just copies him. Jongdae says that Minseok rocks those Doraemon undies anyways.

"Hyungie, look, it's you in a wedding dress, jus' like noona said!" 

Mark isn't so skilled with crayons as he is with markers, but he proudly displays his drawing to Minseok. Beside crayon Minseok is a vaguely faced man in a black tux, smiling.

"Who's that?" Minseok asks, pressing his finger against the black crayon of that happy smile.

"I dunno. A handsome hyungie. Like, like Lu Han hyung! Or maybe it's you too! You don't need to wear the dress, you can wear whatta want. How do you say 'dress' in English?"

"Dress. Dur-eh-ss." Minseok hisses the "s" sound. It's always enough to make four year olds happy.

 

He has the feeling that he needs that first kiss soon.

 

 o.0.o

 

Sundays are warm and lazy, and Minseok likes to be outside in the yellow summer sun reserved for mornings, when no one is there to bump into him on the streets or to fill the air with mindless noise. Baekhyun sleeps in until lunchtime as well as Kyungsoo, who recuperates from his longest night shift. All the kids are with their parents, marking his only day off. Sometimes Minseok goes to the laundromat, or he goes for a walk.

Carefully closing the door behind him, he locks the door and shuffles his feet on the landing of the stairs. The air smells like the paper factory, somewhat acidic and bitter, but it's still a nice day outside. Reflexively, he looks to his left to see if they forgot to pick up the mail front yesterday afternoon: a letter pokes out from the lid of the mailbox, the sender's address from Vancouver extremely familiar.

The mailbox is old and dingy and rusty and houses spiders. Minseok used to like playing with daddy longlegs spiders when he was a kid, but his perception shifted. He stands on the tip of his toes to peer inside and evaluate spider density.

Clear.

Minseok happily takes the letter in his hands, flipping it around a few times and poking his fingers on the corners. They write to each other a few times each month, a small consolation for his loneliness. Lu Han was supposed to buy his train tickets soon, either arriving at the end of July or in August. He wondered how much he would have changed during the year, and at times like this he was glad that they still had a way to communicate (long-distance phone calls are too expensive).

There's a sudden loud whistle from under the stairs. It made Minseok jolt and he almost crumbled the letter in his hands. Looking down between the bars of the iron stairs which climbed up and spiralled against the back of the apartment building, he found Yixing and his Yamaha XS-1 650. Yellow. A yellow one! To see it meant good news, and to see Yixing with his motorbike was better news. He quickly stowed the letter into the front pocket of his denim overall shorts, the jolt of his fingers thereafter regretting the suspense of reading it, but nevertheless shouted out to the older boy and clambered downstairs.

"Nice outfit," Yixing smiled as he greeted Minseok. "Did you cut the pants out yourself?"

"Th'legs had full of holes in them, so we did them away." Minseok glanced down at his brown legs poking out. He folded the top of his yellow Converse shoes and the extra tongue was bent over his laces, too. Baekhyun said he looked like a lunatic or worse, a gigolo like that, but Yixing's smile became big enough so that his dimples dug deep in his cheeks, and he beckoned Minseok to come over. "I don't have tan lines?" Minseok repeated after Yixing asked Minseok why his legs were so uniformly brown. "Baek drags me on th'roof to tan in his briefs, so I have to do it too, see?"

He inched the denim higher. Since it was loose he could pull it up to the base of his hipbone. He hiked up the flash of red fabric that appeared (he had Superman styled short boxers on) and hark, there was milky white skin. The very visible separation between white and copper followed an invisible seam, curving around his hip like a river and disappearing into his red boxers and washed out overalls.

"Huh, I never knew. Does that mean your butt is white?" Yixing asked. He watched Minseok settle into the seat behind him, wonder in his eyes. "I never thought you were that pale."

"… I guess?" Minseok deadpanned, leaning against Yixing's shoulder to quietly ask him to drive somewhere.

"Mingseok, Mingseok," the older boy laughed. He mumbled something in Mandarin which he found hilarious and relayed it back in English. "You're a white peach!"

Minseok punched Yixing's back. He was still laughing when he told Minseok to hold on and as he turned on the gas and promised him that he was going to buy him something at McDonald's. Pinky swore.

When they pulled out of the small parking lot and reached a red light, Minseok turned around to straddle the motorbike the opposite way, back pressing against Yixing, and watched the world slowly start to siphon out backwards. It suddenly accelerated, and soon everything wooshed by Minseok; he gripped the sides of the seat until his knuckles turned white. Sometimes, along with Jongdae and Baekhyun, they'd pile into the back of Kris' pickup truck and were awarded with the same kind of view. But it was free this time. An air of liberty. No trunk walls and teenage boys to narrow down his vision, there only stood the free world. The road some metres away turned into a mirage, and Minseok'd call you crazy if you said that it wasn't was summer was all about.

They stopped at a red light. A hand hitting his thigh motioned Minseok to turn. With his arms now wrapped around Yixing's waist, he asked why.

"Just grab onto something solid." Yixing's voice was a bit lost through the engines, but Minseok saw him shake his head and heard him click his tongue. "Let's not be plain dangerous."

Yixing weaved through cars and drove on the dashed white lines, earning him some indignant honks but he didn't really seem to care. He once got pulled over when Minseok was with him; Yixing mustered his most innocent face and told the heavy-set policeman "Aiyah, me no understan Engrish!"

It did work. Miraculously.

After a fairly pleasant ride they stopped in an abandoned parking lot in a part of the industrial neighbourhood. It used to be for an old retail store that closed; it was torn down and there was a plot of overgrown grass left behind, and the area around the parking lot wasn't very developed either. Just rows of garages made with white steel cladding, and strip clubs in the backstreet. And exotic dancers. Jongdae said there was a difference. The lot was a bit isolated and no one passed by this area. It was probably the plot of land with the most grass, relatively peaceful-looking. There was, however, a McDonald's some five minutes away if you weaved pass the short buildings and bright neon signs of the clubs.

Minseok slumped on the yellow motorbike as he watched Yixing leave. He was glad that he didn't have to go inside a Mickey D's and order, and stretched his arms out with a happy hum.

The sunshine pooled into the parking lot and it made the unkept grass poking out of cracked asphalt and the wildflowers in the miniature meadow left behind from the retail store more vivid, saturating their colours and making the world seem like a painting. It felt like velvet on Minseok's skin, sliding down his body and dripping onto the ground, tiptoeing the shadows that lounged the asphalt. He reached into the pocket of his overalls and took out Lu Han's letter.

Lu Han has very childish writing. Not only that, but the ink smudged everywhere and there was a pop spill on the paper. When he brought it up to his face it smelled like Pepsi. Not even Coke, could you believe that? A downright tragedy. Actually, it could have been either of them. It's not as if they smell different. He felt sleepy under the cover of the sun, and even if the cicadas chirped loudly he closed his eyes.

 

"You look happy," someone remarked after some time. Minseok shrugged. "Does that letter bring good news?"

"Oh, well," Minseok started naturally. "Someone is coming back. In two weeks, see." He lifted the letter of his chest and followed the phrase with his finger.

"Do you like them?"

"He's my best friend."

"Well then, do you like me?"

Minseok snapped his head sideways, eyes wide. Lu Han stood there, green-yellow grass swallowing his legs and daisies kissing his knees. A soft, white shine was cast as a halo on his black hair, and his delicate features crinkled as he smiled. He waved his hand at Minseok.

His whole body lit aflame at the question. Minseok stared incredulously for a few seconds before he spluttered a response.

"Um- I, I can't--"

 

" _Minseok_?"

Minseok sat up quickly. No one was there. Just grass tickling his ankles. The letter fluttered to the ground.

Yixing came back with a brown McDonald's bag to the sight of Minseok's frown. "Minseok, were you sleeping? What are you looking for?" Yixing sat down on the motorbike and stared while Minseok whipped his head around, looking for Lu Han. "I got you chicken nuggets and a milkshake. Hey, be gentle. You'll give yourself whiplash. Whoa there, steady."

Yixing was a nice guy. Genuinely. He always kept his assignments and projects and let Minseok copy them once he caught up, 2 years later. His fingers moved under Minseok's jaw to gently hold it and coax him to stop, and thoughts started running through Minseok's mind when Yixing's free hand pushed the strawberry milkshake into his.

"What was your first kiss like?" Minseok asked. Yixing blinked a few times, taken off guard. "Was it awkward?"

"Y-yeah, it was. Because I didn't know what to do, you know?" Yixing laughed and stroked the underside of Minseok's chin. "She didn't know either. It was weird."

"Baekhyun, he, he said that too, some time ago, and I think about it a lot. So he said that my first kiss shouldn't be with the person I like, because I dun' want it to be awkward and weird. And for it to be somethin' to laugh about. So kiss someone you're comfortable with. A good man."

"Then when kiss the person you like?"

"The second kiss, because that's when you know a bit how to kiss. So it's special-er."

The older boy was obviously not catching onto what Minseok was saying. He wasn't good at subtlety. "I mean, logically, wouldn't it be better if th'first one was gotten rid of before you liked someone? To have it be second, y'need a first. And maybe I need th'second kiss soon, who knows? It's been weeks I've been thinking that. I need someone."

Over the summer breeze lifting into the air, billowing against Minseok's loose sleeves of his yellow shirt and teasing ladybugs to buzz upwards, Yixing's synapses crack and light up.

"But-" Minseok takes a long sip while watching Yixing fumble with his handful of fries. "But, you're a boy! Well, your hair might help making you feel like a girl," Yixing gives a once-over to Minseok with a scrutinizing gaze before his face falls slightly. "Or not, not really; oh jeez, I can't do that. And my mom told me not to defile purity. You're still a kid, anyways -- I can't kiss a kid!"

"I'm eighteen."

Time passes by. Minseok doesn't say anything. He slowly goes through his chicken nuggets and takes long and noisy sips from his milkshake, all while maintaining eye contact.

And Yixing relents.

So Baekhyun was not kidding.

Minseok instinctively pulls back when Yixing leans in and his hands grip his shirt like he's ready to fight. He apologetically loosens his hold and stops moving, but it already prompted Yixing's laughter to ring clear in the parking lot. When Yixing can lean in close enough that Minseok can see his eyelashes in high definition, their noses bump together in the weirdest sensation ever. But when his lips met Minseok's, it wasn't as terrible as he expected it to be. There were no fireworks. There was no iconic soundtrack. A cicada screamed mid-way. But overall, it just felt gentle.

Yixing brushed Minseok's black bangs away from his face and blushed. He spoke in a very low tone and his eyes kept flickering left right left. "It's not gay if we're not, right? This was only a precaution for your future, it's not gay?"

"No," Minseok said, unsure if it's a lie or not. "No, it's not."

The Chinese boy in front of him licked his lips nervously, looking around for any witnesses and finding none. " _You don't tell anyone that I kissed you_."

"But Yixing-" Minseok giggled and took some fries away from Yixing's lap. A wide grin split his face apart and made his jaw and cheeks hurt. He kept giggling when he dipped a chicken nugget in some sorta sweet sauce and felt blood rush everywhere in his body, blushing like mad when he thought of the weight of the letter back in his overalls. "Hey, hey Yixing-- he-- Lu Han'll be back in two weeks, that's two! He bought his train tickets too, so, no guarante-e-e-es! I can't always keep my mouth shut--"

Yixing pushed Minseok off the motorbike. His milkshake didn't spill, he felt summer in the air, and he just had his first kiss. Minseok couldn't care less about some old tumble.

 

o.0.o

 

If he were still in high school, Minseok would hate August. It might be a period of golden light, where yellow dandelions become puffs of white (arguably disgusting, according to Jongdae, because dandelions are technically "spreading their sperm everywhere"), and afternoons burn and cicadas fall sleepy; but August was just before school. Niceties lacked in his school life.

Minseok was what his principal called a Problem Child.

Oh, it's all in the childhood, he was told. First three years in temporary care by a vague Korean family, then two years in a group home due to unavailability, three years with a middle-aged couple who declared bankruptcy the third year, two more in a group home near Chhinatown, and finally Kyungsoo. That's a turbulent ten years before settling with your current family, we expect you to be perturbed.

Problem children gain some sort of reputation eventually. Sometimes it's teasing, sometimes it causes more fights, and sometimes brash actions turn you into some bizarre underdog hero. Soon enough you get asked to pick locks, steal something from a classmate, and other idiotic things. Baekhyun and Jongdae have tried their fair share of times to have it their way. This time, an August night, Minseok has to run a shady errand for Baekhyun.

Baekhyun forgot his wallet at the boxing studio he often frequents and called Minseok from Joonmyun’s house so that he could get it. The plan was that he'd pick it up and crash at the older boy's place. The boxing studio was in what used to be a small textile factory in Little Italy; the brick building is four stories high but narrow. Nowadays it's all empty, the floors are gone, and it's just the boxing ring, blue mats on the ground, and punching bags all on a concrete floor with the ceiling up way high. Large industrial windows pave the sides of the brick building, and that's Minseok's ticket inside.

It's Sunday, and Kyungsoo is still at work in the early morning hours, tending to men drinking until sunrise and workers returning from night shifts. Sneaking into buildings might earn Kyungsoo's disapproval, but as long as no one knows there isn't a risk. The thrill attracts Minseok far more than any consequence, and it's for Baekhyun. It's hard to refuse him favours. He tucks in his big ochre shirt into his small black shorts that earn him ambiguous compliments by the guys that play soccer with him and pulls up his striped tube socks, then tucks the loose bangs that didn't make it into his braid behind his ears. There's a loose window with a broken bolt not far away, tucked safely enough into the side so that no one can catch Minseok in the act.

It's those dumb rotating windows. He manages to balance himself on the sills of the other windows to pull at the top of his target. The bottom pushes into the building, and Minseok can slip in. He faces outside as he lets his feet go in first, and he slowly slides down.

The sound of him dropping down and landing on the concrete floor echoes through the large expanse of empty.

Baekhyun left his wallet inside a locker. Minseok forgot a flashlight, and guided by the moonlight he walks through the deep blue. Everything at night is different. It's not the whole "nightlife" type of affair with neon lights and music and clubs; it's quiet and eerie. Not on Finch street and the adjoining Catherine street, because Finch is still busy and Catherine has all the hookers, but every other road stands still within time. Even the punching bags are shrouded by a curtain of mystery. He pries open a cold metal door, prays that he won't touch something disgusting like a sewer rat and contract the plague, and finds Baekhyun's wallet. He is operating clandestinely within this unspoken darkness, and Minseok finds himself anticipating something greater, adventure to mix in with adrenaline in the loneliness of empty buildings and streets. Slinking back outside with the wallet, bathed in the orange sodium-vapour light that makes his legs look smooth, he decides to explore this forgotten world.

Before that, he walks back in Chinatown on the residential streets, throws a rock at Joonmyun's window, then throws the wallet at his face once the glass is slid upwards. Baekhyun shouts a "Thanks Minnie Mouse!", but he never gets to see his face.

So that's done.

Minseok is free to explore. He takes to the backstreets where the roads are narrower and the telephone poles have less adverts stapled to them, tiptoeing around or across the small puddles from yesterday's rainfall. Shadows bend across the buildings and twist his perspective, the orange streetlights play with reflections and his eyes; but through this world, Minseok finds a boy diving into a side-street.

Young. Tall. Pale.

"Sehun?"

He's sixteen, Joonmyun's brother. Minseok is supposed to tutor him in the upcoming school year for math (they didn't have money for college so Minseok sticks around working, Baekhyun's mom scored a richer man last year and paired with his working money and loans, will go to university). The Korean families, as much as they are the minority, tend to stick together. It's one in the morning, and he can't imagine why Sehun would be walking alone, determined with his hands in his pockets, clear destination in mind. Minseok's feet start to trace Sehun's steps on the sticky black asphalt.

Curious, he bends his head back to check the street sign.

Somerset.

He almost falls in his surprise.

Unlike most cities, their Chinatown is huge, and it's not only Chinese families that live there. It's big enough so that the backstreets are divided into sub-neighbourhoods by ethnicity. Minseok lives on Finch street and not in the Korean streets, but Sehun does. And Sehun just walked into Somerset, the dividing road between the Chinese and Japanese blocks, far from home. Right where their gangs stage their conflicts. Everyone has gangs, Asian or not. Crime's everywhere.

"Sehun! Oh Sehun!" Minseok starts running before any Greek tragedy may befall them, ochre sleeves flapping in the wind. "The fuck! _Oh Sehun!_ "

"Hyung-" Sehun is wheeled around when Minseok pulls on his wrist and pulls them to the wall of a fence. "Why-- you're getting in the way! Hyung! Hey-- I have to meet someone!" Sehun's that weird skinny teenager with arms you could theoretically snap in half. In all due respect his family feeds him well and he's on the volleyball team, but he's just this matchstick man. With Minseok holding both of his wrists, he barely stands a chance of running away.

"Meet someone? Here? What, you plannin' on seeing thugs? You know you're not supposed to be here! Joonmyun-hyung's probably wonderin' why you're not home! Sehun, why's a kid here, huh?"

"I'm not a child!"

"Like hell you are."

Sehun opens his mouth to argue, but three loud noises resonating in the neighbourhood cut him off. They crack like quick punctures in the air, almost like they never happened; but the sounds are so loud as if they're close, and Minseok's heart lurches at every bang. It would have been comical with Sehun's mouth hanging open, but Minseok reckons that the source is far from it.

"… Fireworks?" Sehun whispers.

"Fireworks don't sound like that." Minseok whispers back.

Someone yells out in Mandarin, and someone becomes a lot of people. Minseok and Sehun look at each other, frozen in terror, for a good handful of seconds as the commotion crescendos. They soon hear running, and a shock travels in their bodies, terrifying and all-telling:

"Run!"

Sehun takes off in a flash, skidding on the asphalt and disappearing in a network of alleys, far away from all revealing light and carried into hidden obscurity. Minseok decides to abscond via a different route, praying that there will be no difficult encounters or stray bullets.

Another gunshot. Ice pours into Minseok's veins. He doesn't remember being this scared, the last time having ended up with the two long silver scars running on his thighs.

He ducks behind a corner, panting heavily. His limbs lock up and it's hard to try to keep running away, the only source of light from spaced out street lamps with rays of light that now appear heavenly, the only peace left.  Kyungsoo invades his thoughts and only prayers are left when the man leaves his mind, fear taking over any thought. The cacophony suddenly grows louder, as is the sound of someone running. Towards Minseok. Standing up and hugging the sides of the building, his legs tremble and his feet stay planted, stupidly.

"Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit--" The stranger barrels towards Minseok, silhouette obscure as it grabs his wrist, and he's taken away into the darkness of an alley some meters forward: propelled by the force pulling him and gut instinct, Minseok runs with him. They crash into a wall in a dark, narrow alley, hidden from sight, and a hand clasps itself over Minseok's mouth, preventing him from shouting out his surprise.

"Fuck, stay hidden." A whisper says. A very familiar whisper. Minseok blinks, eyes adjusting to the dimness in the alley, and finds-- yes, he found it, dumb sweet-honey voice lurking in somewhat deep registers-- but pleasing, pleasing to hear and pleasing to know that he finds Lu Han in that whisper.

And Lu Han seems to find Minseok when his free hand brushes over a long braid and a recognizable pair of plump cheeks by accident.

"Birdie? Is that you? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the exact face I wanted to see before I die. Fuck, I just arrived here and my brother got pissed 'cause of other business and then this happened! Said that like that, BLAM, was gonna shove his gun down my throat and shoot and make me clean up the mess if I interfered, so SCRAM." Lu Han whisper screamed, tone turning harsh on the loudest words. Minseok could faintly discern Lu Han's free hand plunge into his own shirt to take out what he presumed to be the wooden cross that hung on a black string around his neck.

He held the cross upwards and kissed it. "Thank god you're safe. Don't hang around Somerset or even Bronson either, okay? I heard that Ge has territory issues with the Yakuza branch 'round here and the Viets down there."

Minseok nodded, not up to date with current gang affairs.

Somewhere along the line, Minseok's conscious of the fact that _Lu Han_ , that Lu Han, beautiful and his own Lu Han, came back. He stays frozen where he is, watching moths reaching to a streetlamp far off at the end of the alley, thinking of Lu Han's weird hands that Minseok once tried to lift a vein off from. They protrude a lot. If Lu Han does more work with his hands, then they appear more bluish green and Minseok likes to try and pinch them, to hell with Lu Han's circulation. It's a big and warm hand crushing his lips, mouth, chin, jaw, all of it; squishing his cheeks and thankfully keeping his nose clear, and Minseok's tummy tingles with the fact that it's been a year since he'd first craved those touches but it's now, completely and irreversibly now that Lu Han is so close to him.

Another gunshot goes off, but Minseok thinks that it's farther away than before. All the background noise dies off after that.

Dimly, he wondered what was in store for them beyond the alley walls. Perhaps they could instead stay here, between the bricks that caught on the back of his shirt and in near pitch black darkness. Lu Han was inches away from him, breath washing out in hot waves that prickled Minseok's skin. Months passed by without that feeling, and as much as it made his jaw and cheeks ache as he smiled, he couldn't bring himself to close the distance.

Maybe it would naturally happen.

The last time Minseok went to the doctor's, he clocked in at 59 kilos. Lu Han's taller than him and possibly stronger, but Minseok doesn't know much about weight so he'll assume a very typical 62 kilos. 63. Squinting in the dark, he decides that they're maybe 30cm apart from each other, but it's hard to judge.

His fingers try to count and mirror the math going on in his head. Lu Han's hand is still clamping his mouth shut, and whenever his palm shifts his brain stutters. It's getting in the way.

0.00000275 Newtons. That's the force of attraction between Minseok and Lu Han. It's not a lot, that's 0.00000275 kilograms per metres per seconds squared. But it's not zero. And between them, meaning that it's the effect Minseok has on Lu Han and more importantly, what Lu Han has on Minseok. He squints harder as his mental math continues, now trying to draw out the formulas and subbing in numbers in thin air. He traces the numbers with his pointer finger and gestures when he's stuck. Lu Han mutters "What the fuck" but he doesn't really pay attention to it.

It would take Minseok 12850717 seconds to fall towards Lu Han, theoretically, if they were in their own little world with nothing to hold them down, up, sideways, or any way. That's about 149 days. Well, it's not a year, but it's a good third of a year, and then some. 149 days for Minseok to naturally gravitate into Lu Han's chest with that 0.00000275 Newtons that will make him accelerate towards the oblivion of his messed up feelings and bury himself into the lost and found familiarity he so likes. And that sucks.

It takes Minseok one step, just one, one foot in front of the other and it's all done, for his chest to press against Lu Han's and for the hand clasped over his mouth to drift to the back of his neck, squeezing. Lu Han's brother disappeared from their realities; and in true reality, he probably gave up on chasing after his younger brother or whatever it was.

"You still seem invested in th'illegal," Minseok piped up, voice cracking mid-sentence out of nerves. His jaw hurt the more he smiled. "Should I worry?"

"Danger's my middle name, sweet stranger. Birdies stay cute, I stay in danger."

"Rhymes."

"Like dick in a chick."

"Ew. Glad t'know your mind's still stuck in the gutter." He writhed a bit when Lu Han wrapped his arm around his waist and smacked the offending forearm.

With peace falling over the pair, Minseok had the time to regain his bearings. The commotion had ceased and there were small pieces of conversation from around the neighbourhood that drifted over the sleepiness of it all, asking if everyone was alright and little exclamations of surprise, indignity, whatever. There were cardboard boxes sticking up the alley walls, and he was tempted to say that it was from the Liang's convenience store. His feet had bumped into a concrete step on his way here, maybe a meter off from them; probably the back door. He started to grope the wall behind Lu Han, pressing against him with his chin on his shoulder as he searched for a drawstring.

His fingers stumbled upon a piece of used string, and Minseok pulled.

"Bingo," Lu Han grinned when light flooded over them. He glanced upwards where a lightbulb hung from the concrete awning above them.

Minseok just stared.

Lu Han's hair was shorter than last year. He now had an undercut (when Minseok was sixteen everyone called that a Hitler Youth cut and made fun of guys who had it) and had two thin, shaved-off lines running the sides of his head. Minseok wanted to reach out and pat the top of his head, it looked so soft in the yellow light. His skin was sun-kissed and his smile still had the same curve he remembered it to have. He looked well. Maybe even a bit more muscular, but that was natural. He moved boxes around for a whole year, jeez, what was he supposed to expect?

Minseok was between relief and underlying bitterness to see Lu Han so healthy after a year gone, filled only with letters that failed to fill in gaps of existence; and he reached out to stroke Lu Han's cheek with the back of his hand, eyes wide as he tried to take in every detail in front of him. Over a year, Minseok realized, having Lu Han so far away with only letters meant that Lu Han just might as well have not existed -- it felt too empty, and that was entirely because of the nature of his own heart. Heck, maybe it wasn't even Lu Han writing those letters. Maybe there wasn't even some emotion to it, or truth. But he stroked Lu Han's cheek and smiled, for Lu Han was here.

And Lu Han pried Minseok's hand away to hold it in his.

"Heya."

"Hi."

"You get prettier every year, don't you? Or handsome, depending on what you prefer. Is that a cut on your cheek?" Lu Han leaned it to look, and Minseok admired how the soft yellow light cast long shadows over his face. Shadows dark and soft around the edges from his long eyelashes that poured onto his cheeks, the dip under his eyes, and the subtle hollow from his cheekbones -- his face was a mixture of dark and light with few values in between, and his eyes shone. "Is that from someone's ring? Birdie, don't tell me you've kept on being a problem child."

"M'sorry if Falucci punched me wearin' his pops' ring." Minseok mumbled.

(Falucci often hung out at the boxing studio. His uncle, that rotund Italian man with a gold chain and thick chest hair, was one of the joint owners of the place. He had a rivalry going on with Baekhyun and Minseok, but they were pretty close overall, although on a last name basis. Sohee likes playing with his youngest sister. Falucci punched him when they were fooling around on the blue mats and might have forgotten about the ring, rather unfortunately because Minseok couldn't block it)

Lu Han raised his eyebrows as if he was unimpressed. A few seconds later he started chirping about his journey home and his rather disturbing arrival to Chinatown, how nice it was to be back, and little tidbits and fragments of memories that Minseok couldn't really understand ("You'd have to been there to get it"). He nodded and exclaimed surprise and sadness at the right parts, but the more he looked at Lu Han's mouth run off the guiltier he felt. His palm was clammy where Lu Han held it.

"How have you been, though? Did anything happen since your last letter?"

"I--" Minseok gulped. "I had my first kiss."

Lu Han's expression changed at that. His mouth hung slightly open and he blinked rapidly. Minseok's hand was suddenly gripped extra hard.

"Oh. Was it, um, nice?"

"Y-yeah, uh, relatively."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Y-yeah."

Minseok felt like running.

"Who was the… lucky… um, girl?"

"Yixing."

"Oh," Lu Han's lips formed a perfect circle to match the sound. Something lit up in his eyes, either mischievous or teasing, with a crooked smile to match. " _That's not a girl_. You kissed a boy? And you liked it? That's a surprise."

"Is it?" In all retrospect, and it is embarrassing for Minseok to admit it, but a lot of guys called him a faggot and a fairy and put everything up in public, so really, _really really_ , not just really, it shouldn't be such a revelation. Well, at the same time he was also told to have a nice ass, so it went both ways? "Wait, but, but I had to have th'first kiss. You know, it's the second one that's for the person you like. So now I can kiss the person I like and have it be true."

Lu Han let go of Minseok's hand, and in absence of his touch Minseok didn't have too much time to despair as his arm slipped around his waist to join the other. Minseok blew stray hairs out of his face, hoping to diverge the blush that overtook his features. "Keep a kiss for the person you like, huh? Sounds romantic. Girls are really into that, always gushin' about it, but I guess that just because it's weird for a guy to do it, so they don't. Never thought you were soft enough to think about that either, birdie."

"Baekhyun said it was 'cause I never dated. Because number one is s'pposed to be something right awkward." Minseok tried to explain.

"Yeah, might be valid. Maybe you lose the romantic touch once you date, who knows, but kisses shouldn't be counted anyways, that's just a bore." Lu Han shrugged. He's had a couple of girlfriends in the past. Minseok never bothered getting chummy with them. Jessica Cheng was relatively nice; her family also owned the Chinese herbal medicine shop. Her grandmother scares Minseok. Then there was Ayano Akimoto, who really didn't like Minseok for unknown reason. After that was Alice Wong. Lu Han seemed to like her a lot. It was more than awkward to hang around both at once, but Lu Han somehow always had time for Minseok. All of them made Minseok feel uncomfortable, though.

Neither said anything for a good handful of seconds. The alley was completely quiet.

"Can I be selfish for a little while?" Lu Han suddenly asks. The shadows under his lips make the small quirk of his smile prominent.

"… You're asking for consent t'be selfish?" Minseok pulls away, incredulous. After considering it for a moment he snorts and laughs derisively. "Seriously? Your head got rattled in bejesus, dinnit?"

"Come on, we're best friends. Respect and stuff." Lu Han looks extremely casual considering what he said, leaning against the brick wall and holding Minseok close to him without a single care in the world.

"What counts as being selfish, anyways?"

Lu Han smiled. "A kiss."

"W-why?"

"Low impulse control and curiosity?" He's extremely nonchalant about the whole thing, shifting his arms so that his hands hold Minseok's slim waist through his large shirt. His thumbs press against the base of his ribcage, and Minseok feels comfortable with the weight of his hands and the grip Lu Han has on him.

He's always asked Minseok to do the weirdest shit. After they'd met, Lu Han asked him to watch him play basketball. When he asked why (he was sitting at on the bathroom counter and pressing the mint phone to his ear) because they barely knew each other and Lu Han met him under the worst circumtances ever, he just replied that he wanted to see Minseok. Correction: wanted Minseok to see him. He fell off the counter.

It just kept happening.

For his grade 12 art project, Lu Han asked Minseok if he wanted to be his nude model. "You'd look really pretty," he explained to him as Minseok applied scar gel to his thighs one night during a sleepover. "With the sun on your skin and bedsheets. You'll be those artsy people you see in films, and I'll be your artsy dude to paint you." They've seen each other partially naked in the locker rooms loads of times and he wasn't really embarrassed, but it felt like a weird situation and he declined. Lu Han didn't ask anyone else. He bought one of those perverted mags at the drug store and based his painting off some blonde girl. For soccer, he asks Minseok to tie his shoes, or do this new stretch that Lu Han wanted to see. For food, yeah, he just asked for food, it wasn't that extraordinary. And now, he wants a kiss.

He seriously doubts the amount of damage Lu Han can do. He'd always let him have his way anyways. Like... If Lu Han really wants it, maybe it just doesn't have to count. He got Yixing to kiss him. He can have Lu Han kiss him. It wouldn't be so different. Theoretically, Minseok's second kiss does have an owner. He just wasn't sure who. Or didn't want to think about it. And strangely, it didn't even bother him that Lu Han wanted to steal it so brazenly. But still, there's a small problem with that. Minseok raises an eyebrow and squints at him. "Why do you wanna kiss a guy? Me?"

"You've kissed Yixing. You're way closer to me, why am I left out? I want in. You didn't have any qualms with him."

There is no flaw in that logic. Minseok's eyes keep roving back to Lu Han's lips, quietly wondering if Lu Han might have skeletons in his closet. Or Lu Han himself was in there. His own skeleton was hidden in the closet.

"Sure. Be selfish. You're probably a terrible kisser."

"Oh, like Yixing being grossed out by kissing a guy will do a better job than me. Great." Lu Han grins widely and squeezes Minseok's waist. "Great." He breathes out, tone a bit lower.

And Lu Han leans down, not even stopped by a breath of hesitation, and presses his lips against Minseok's.

There are fireworks. They ignite in Minseok's chest and leave the infinitely small space left between them hot, and the sound explodes in Minseok's head. They make the skin of his hands spark when he grips on Lu Han's shirt, something bent between surprise and warmth found in pleasure crawling under his skin. Lu Han pulls back by millimetres before his lips find Minseok's again and it's completely dizzying, making him whimper (embarrassingly). The arms he's held in keep him standing when his knees turn to jelly, the type he feeds Sohee because she thinks chewing is a massive waste of time. With every time Lu Han pulls back there's a weird wet noise and some sort of weirder noise at the back of Minseok's throat, and he doesn't have the heart to stop Lu Han, tries to make it last by holding onto his shirt and not let it go.

It ends with a small kiss to his cheek. Lu Han pulls back to look down at Minseok, cheeks flushed with an expression Minseok's never seen on him, he can't even begin to describe it.

"Han-"

"Minseokkie hyung!"

Sehun stands at the end of the alley. He looks like he shat bricks. He's unscathed, however, only out of breath. Probably ran for a long time. Minseok realizes that he's flattened against Lu Han, blushing from head to toe, and tries to move away, but Lu Han looks like a deer caught in headlights and won't let go; he's completely frozen.

"Hyung, what are you doing? I thought you got caught!" The teen jogs up to Minseok and wheezes a bit. Lu Han does a little confused hum, thrown off by the Korean. "I think they all went away though. And--" Sehun gasps loudly. "Lu Han! Dude, you're back!"

Sehun says "dude" a lot in English and Minseok does not approve. His sudden exclaim does, however, allow Lu Han to let go of Minseok who's trying to calm down the vivid blush on his cheeks and his hammering heart.

"Aw, look at you." His voice is remarkably steady and he plays it cool. "You've -- Jesus Christ you've grown. Are you on steroids or something?"

"No, I'm naturally tall. But I heard that Minseok's doctor recommended him hormones because he wouldn't grow."

"F-fuck off Sehun," Minseok gets to a shaky start, still rattled by Lu Han kiss(es). "Joonmyun hyung's waiting for you, he's prolly worried as heck." With his composure finally regained he glares at the boy. Sehun shifts uncomfortably, and his mumbles are never caught.

"H-hyung, I still need to--"

"I'm gonna walk you home."

He didn't leave much room for discussion and pulled Lu Han behind him when he started walking. Sehun had no choice but to follow. The young boy kept silent while Lu Han kept whispering in Minseok's ear Really Fucking Stupid Shit, one arm slung around his shoulder and his nose tickling Minseok's neck every now and then, like he never kissed no one or nothin'. He was thanked by Joonmyun when they dropped Sehun off, the older boy's hands fretting over his brother. It looked somewhat distant and impersonal, but Joonmyun's feelings were genuine.

When they leave the driveway, Lu Han links their hands together. Not in the half-assed way but all the way, fingers meshed together instead of demurely clasping over the back of each other's hand. "Time to get you home, Minseokkie." He whispered. Whispers in that obscure darkness reaffirmed the unknown and mystery, and Minseok wasn't alone to explore it, this time. He walked past those warping shadows next to Lu Han, who seemed like a dream. He stepped around those old puddles that reflected the stars next to Lu Han, who felt like forever and new. He melted into that sodium vapor light and into twilight blue next to Lu Han, and stars and moon and satellite dishes meant nothing, and nothing ever mattered anymore.

They approach the three-storey building from the back, where the small parking lot for the restaurant is. He steps over the cracked yellow paint on the ground, and he's tugged up the black iron stairs, past two landings. Minseok is dropped off at the door with a "Bye bye, birdie."

Lu Han starts going down the steps when Minseok clears his throat.

"The kiss," He instinctively brought his fingers to his lips. "Did it... Y'know, does it mean somethin'?"

Stars and moon and satellite dishes sighed with Minseok at Lu Han's confused stare, at the sound of his synapses cracking to life, and the shuffling of his shoes.

"I... I-I don't know. Does it have to? I said it was low impulse control. Was curious. Because you kissed Yixing. So." He splutters out, hands deep in the pockets of his shorts.

"So we just live like it never happened?"

"Maybe."

"You don't got a straight answer? For me?"

Lu Han stepped back in front of Minseok, whose hand was on the door knob, hesitant to leave. "If you want one, I'll try to find one. I'll call you when I have it. I don't know when I'll have it, but I'll call you."

"Don't forget."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you're really adamant on this."

 

Minseok knows that.

He's stepping off into dangerous, uncharted territory.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!


	3. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok intrudes on something he wishes he didn't.

1984, the start of autumn. Graffiti around the city has significantly increased but the mayor hasn't taken action yet. Minseok got a new pair of shoes and Lu Han called them ugly.

 

Minseok watches Daisy Krylon drip-dripping down the sides of the subway car. It's a decent September night and a decent clandestine outing at the railroad depot, where sleeping subway trains lie and fall prey to the hands of youth with spray paint. He’s in charge of the flashlight, the light mixing with the fog that is Junmyeon’s cigarette smoke. Lu Han is passed out on his lap, his hair tickling the soft skin and his warm breath creating little goosebumps, but Minseok doesn’t dare wake him. But he really shouldn’t be sleeping like this. He can’t run away that easily like that.

“Baekhyun, you’re letting the paint drip down the sides again. I told you not to hold the can like that.” Jongdae scolds. The first day of university is in two days, but here he is, trying not to get caught by security. It's funny 'cause he was so adamant to attend the only Department of Religious Studies in the region. Like Lu Han, he wears a wooden cross around his neck, but he also has a saints bracelet around his wrist.

Minseok watches Baekhyun put on an exaggerated act of glaring and huffing. “ _Sorry_.”

Junmyeon sighs from behind Minseok, white smoke swirling in the air above him. The older boy sits down on the rails and slumps onto Minseok’s small back, never saying another word. Nothing passes through his lips except that cigarette, silence becoming him with only his breath and the faint orange light playing at the tip of his lips to carry his presence. Minseok is the only one left to keep watch on Jongdae and Baekhyun, the two boys on their tippy-toes and the route of completion of Jongdae’s latest work.

“The drips are pretty,” Minseok tells Jongdae. “Pretty yellow slidin’ down cold metal. S’cool.” His lips form a small circle at the last word and Jongdae looks back to him, eyebrows raised at an impossible angle and shaking his canister with an amused look. There’s paint on his pants and on his sternum (Baekhyun’s Clover handprint made a huge _smack!_ against his skin and punched out Jongdae's loudest whine yet), jacket tied around his waist and it strikes Minseok how much of a fine portrayal of a wayward young man Jongdae is.

"You know what else is pretty? Your little pink shoulder, man. Lu Han's slowly undressing you, y'know that?" Jongdae quips. He turns around to continue painting when Minseok looks down. Verily, to which verily is a presumptuous and ugly word, Lu Han has the hem of Minseok's Star Wars shirt bunched into his fist. It's funny how people sleeping can have such a tight hold on stuff. Sohee is a monster cuddler when she sleeps -- it's like having to untangle yourself from a knocked out, 3 foot octopus. Lu Han's more inconvenient, though, because he managed to pull Minseok's shirt clean off his left shoulder.

Baekhyun snickers as he finishes the final touches of blue on Jongdae's text. He steps back and cocks his head sideways, fingers playing with the frayed edges of his worn, ripped jeans, pulling on the threads once he reaches the thrilling conclusion. He reads it out, sounding half impressed, half teasingly disappointed.

"Baek, let me put on David Bowie and say that again for me."

"Won't we get caught if you put on music, genius?" Baekhyun puts his hands on his hips as he watches Jongdae fiddle with the small tape player he takes out of his back pocket.

"Come on, just for a small while. City's gone lax on this anyways. Minseok'll keep good watch for us, won't he?"

"Y-yeah," Minseok replies as he adjusts his grip on the flashlight. "Of course."

The click of the play button coincides with the heavenly grin Jongdae bestows upon Minseok, and the first notes of the song play with the imaginary choir in Minseok's mind. Not because he's awestruck, but because the flashlight makes a glare on the polished wood of his wooden cross and the lacquer of his bracelet, and Jongdae's smiles mean the world to pretty much anyone. Baekhyun's hands drop to his sides-- now he's properly mesmerized, properly awestruck.

"Bowie's a bit of a pouf though, isn't he? He wears makeup and stuff." Junmyeon suddenly says. "Mom doesn't buy his music because of that. Bad influence, she says. And you know, she's been here to see him go since the sixties."

Minseok sucks in his Cherry Smash lips and hopes Junmyeon has not caught sight of their gloss. Lu Han bought Maybelline Kissing Potion for him since he asked and 'cause Lu Han insisted, but maybe it was a mistake.

"What's a little makeup to a musical genius, hyung? He turns everything into art." Waving his hands around to gesture at the painted train, Jongdae turns his head over his shoulder to address Junmyeon. "Would you like to see what a little Bowie can do to my art?"

Baekhyun licks his lips as he waits for Jongdae's signal, which arrives right after Junmyeon blows smoke into their general direction.

His voice, you know, Baekhyun's voice is just special when he wants it, wills it to be. The way it carries over in any room, over any other voice and music, how easily it reaches you and doesn't even have to beg for you to hold it in your hands because you know that's what you need to do. For all his regular screaming in the shower to old disco tracks Kyungsoo denies loving, Baekhyun's voice better be worth something.

When the flashlight zones into Jongdae's strokes of paint, colours livelier than man itself, Minseok trips over the grandeur of some Bowie song he can't name and Lu Han's small sleepy nuzzle in his thighs and that voice, those words, the world;

"Who is she whom angels sing, making all creation ring? Break our chains forever, be our light to guide us."

"… Dude," Jongdae mutters, properly mesmerized, properly awestruck. "Dang."

"Yeah, fuck." Junmyeon slides off Minseok's back to sidle to his side, his eyes reflecting the stars above and he looks the way Minseok feels. Minseok can't untangle the words in his mouth and only hums his admiration.

Baekhyun laughs, throwing his head back, and waltzes into Jongdae's arms; for all the talent he has, his pride surpasses it. Jongdae slaps his back and gets Baekhyun into a head-lock. "That was _choice_ , Baek. Wicked."

"You're wicked too. You're the one who wrote this shit, man." Baekhyun beams while wrestling Jongadae's arms off him.

"Nah, I sprayed paint and this happened."

"Hey man, give yourself some cred." Baekhyun frees himself from his trap and straightens his shirt. “You are a poet,” He started with a whimsical air, plunging his hands into Jongdae's duffel bag. The canisters clattered at the stroke of his fingers, and at their emergence with dustings of Coral, Minseok saw the gentle creep of a smile on Jongdae's lips as he continues talking. "Artist like me: colours and pictures imploding and exploding into such oblivion that your words, these words, are all that's left."

"Your words," Jongdae says with a laugh, shaking his wrist so that his saints bracelet went further up his arms. "English essay. Grade 12. Supposed to be about a defining moment in your life, but you got your hands on a hymn book and ran off-rails. For all nine pages. You turned us into slaves."

The clattering of canisters became the keys of the old typewriter. Jongdae had read the words out loud and Minseok's fingers raced with the syllables pouring out of his lips. He didn't particularly mind the work. It gave him the promise that at one of them could excel in something; Minseok's only friend was numbers, but Baekhyun-- he could barter with words, spin something new out of nothing and crumple it back together to simplified, good grades. Yet Baekhyun would try to reassure Minseok sometimes, and so believing in his convictions he'd judge Minseok as his muse. Most magical (fairy, fae, faerie, Baekhyun's recently tempted to say; Tinkerbell and don't fight me on this) and mirifc, this child of his brother he could never ever forget.

Minseok could never convey the same feeling for lack of eloquence, and in situations like these he was once told to only smile.

('Cause birdie, if someone gets to see your pink gums and full set of teeth and cheeks bunched up, that's past golden; that's diamonds and platinum.)

"Sometimes I think you're crazy for going bombing. Little vandals make bad role models." Minseok doesn't have to look sideways to see Junmyeon's face screwed into concern. He hears the gravel shift when he stamps his cigarette out. "But then again, look at who I'm talking to."

Minseok passes his hand through Lu Han's hair protectively, looks down at the resting face of a matured cherub and erases all his harm with his own convictions of good. Sinful they might be, for humanity can't seem to want to exist without evoking flaws; and following that, skewed are the moral codes by default. Jongdae, in contrast, laughs boisterously: the kind of laugh that's drip-dripping with Daisy warmth. He takes his necklace off and throws it to the pile of youth behind him with a cheery _think fast!_. It's Junmyeon who catches it easily, arm shooting up and boasting his high school baseball career. "Why exactly am I holding your cross in the middle of the night?"

"Because I want you to realize what Baekhyun, and Minseok too although he's not really in the talking scene tonight, call art."

Lu Han shifts in Minseok's lap and mumbles in his sleep, but he lets him be. Jongdae's all riled up, it's not something to miss. Become an evangelist on T.V., he and Baekhyun tell him. We can flick to the Christian channel and find you there, you should rent out an opera house and have Yixing on the piano and evangelize, inspire, talk your head off and speak of art as art.

His lips curl upwards and he grins, much like the Cheshire Cat. "Can anyone tell me who 'she' is? Now, you were gonna say Our Virgin Mary, weren't you?" Jongdae's talking with a hint of snark in the background of his passion and his hand manically agitates a spray paint can, adding to his buildup. "Of course you'd say that, because I just took Baekhyun's rehashed, remixed hymns and put them into paint. But that's not, whaddya call it-- my vision, that ain't my vision. She is, quite controversially for all newspapers who hate on protests and universities, Youth. What is youth, you may ask? Very complicated question. How would you like me to explain it?"

Baekhyun throws his arm up like an excited puppy and yells "Picture! Paint a picture!"

"Picture, picture picture picture! Okay--" Jongdae snorts mid-sentence and gets just the bit more jittery. "Youth, see youth is when I was with Minseokkie at the laundromat yesterday; he was stripped to his underwear because all his clothes was in the wash, looking through the classifieds in the paper, and there he was: ebony hair untied and following the curves 'n angles of his body like tiny little rivers, them little tiny marker doodles from the kids on his arms, smooth skin lookin' like butterscotch and smelling like Love's Baby Soft."

Minseok blushes a little and swears he hears Lu Han's soft laugh, but the boy's eyes are still closed.

"Another one!"

"Youth is Junmyeon, that little genius who won the scholarship that's paying for his whole freaking university! You realize how amazing that is? His parents aren't doctors, lawyers, engineers, nothing like that, but he's getting in that league himself!"

"Another--"

"Youth is Lu Han: dead to his parents, dead to his brother, dead to us when he was in Vancouver (although not to some of us here); died to undergo a renaissance and here he is, new man, new Youth, bustling with hope and dreams and new luster in his eyes we've never seen before!"

"Jongd--"

"Youth," Jongdae pauses to catch his breath, feeling like he's giving the sermon of his life. "Is desolation and desperation, marked by unfairness and thine unweaving of such evils, and that is what brings Youth its hope, isn't it? And hope and love will set us free; it will, won't it?" He becomes quiet at the end, panting after all of his screaming, the can in his hands now forgotten as his arms lay limp at his sides.

"Yeah," Minseok breathes out. "It will."

Satisfied with the response, Jongdae and Baekhyun breathe exhilaration as they scramble to put signatures on their work. They're purposefully bumping into each other, trying to trip each other into the gravel and the rails, and Minseok watches as Jongdae fights for the Popsicle paint that Baekhyun is shoving down his shirt.

That's real Youth, Minseok thinks. The type that creates stupid, excited kids. Junmyeon's laughing beside him, sounding a bit more derisive than cheerful.

"Bullshit." Junmyeon says.

"What?"

"Bullshit. Youth's bullshit. Just… just look at Sehun and tell me that there's a grain of sunshine left in him."

Apparently, and this is just now that Minseok realizes this, but Sehun's nightly escapades have not stopped. He's pretty damn sure it's not because the boy enjoys the scenery. A lot has changed over a year, and it's Lu Han that makes him realize this; when they'd walk around and there's these small changes in people and buildings, new wanted posters and new movie releases, and Sehun who went from good little kid who plays street hockey once it's warm enough outside to pallid, dodgy teen. The last thought makes Minseok uncomfortable, but it downright shakes Junmyeon up as he takes another cigarette out, fumbling to light it. Minseok's the one to do it for him, eyes careful on the elder's demeanour.

"He doesn't want to tell me what's wrong. I know we've been distant since I'm busy with school and work and pulling our stupid family's shit together (shit excuse, I know), but he just… shows up with bruises all over and never tells a soul." Junmyeon's hand pulled from his mouth shakily, the grey smoke erratic in the wind. He looked too mature, too worn; rugged in sadness and hatred geared towards himself.

"... At some point I considered asking your help. Just because you're closer to his age, that's why I wanted you to tutor him. Keep an eye on him. And I don't know, and I don't mean to offend you, but you've kind of… been in some places. You don't really have to do anything, just keep an eye on him when I can't?"

Minseok nodded and squirmed to get his arms around Junmyeon's waist, squeezing the life out of him while balancing a sleeping boy on his thighs. He could feel Junmyeon relax into his arms, and the young man patted his arms lightly. A heavy sigh permeated their space. "I'm such a shit brother. I-- I have no idea what I'm supposed to do when he comes home all shaken up. I'm too stupid to do anything just in case it completely ruins everything and all the sacrifices-- God, sacrifices we’ve done, I can't throw that away. Then I'll never be able to make money for Sehun. I can’t even take care of him. He doesn't even want to talk to me. I'm just trash."

"Hey, you're his family, hyung." Minseok rubs Junmyeon's back and sticks his face into his shoulder because Junmyeon's a sucker for people who look like they'd just crumble without him. "You love him lots. Not every kid's got that, y'know? Just leave it to me, and promise to work hard."

Junmyeon snorted and took another drag from his cigarette. His eyes looked at Minseok up and down, way different from the way he's seen others do it; starkly different from the soft way Lu Han does, instead scrutinizing Minseok and dripping with desperation. He sighed in the end and tugged the right sleeve of his t-shirt to get the left back on his shoulder and stared longingly at Chewbacca on his chest.

"Before Christmas. Hyung, you don't want me t'address it to him directly, so is'gonna take time. But I promise that I'll get Sehun back before Christmas." The older boy looked at him in disbelief until Minseok extended his pinky out. "So promise that y'take care of him in the meantime and in the future."

"You're so childish," Junmyeon chided, but he still pinky swore and pinched Minseok's cheek. "You've been through more than most of us but you're such a _kid_."

"Mm, we can't all be smart like you."

"I guess so."

"Guys!" Jongdae calls out, breaking a small moment of intimacy. "After this, should we--"

It's funny.

There's a whistle.

Minseok's holding the flashlight but he's completely useless, because the first thing that they all register is the sharp whistle. That's the guards. It's loud and piercing and their hearts jump out, then fall to the ground and splatter out in every direction once they hear the dogs. Oh God, the dogs.

Lu Han, oh my God, Lu Han's still sleeping, that Fucking Idiot.

Baekhyun's the first to react: he runs with the duffel bag, the sound of cans clanking and a few falling following him, while Jongdae is in hot pursuit with gravel flying off in every direction. He's cursing wildly, screaming for Minseok and Junmyeon to Get A Fucking Move On, Oh My Fucking God, Oh My God (and Jongdae _never_ swears, _never_ says God in vain). Lu Han is tugged up and his eyes now open, blinking, slowly and almost blissfully, but Junmyeon and Minseok push him forwards to run. He slurs with his words and his steps, but Lu Han's always been fast and they manage to push him up the fence by his sorry excuse of an ass without getting their ankles bitten off. Minseok gets his arm cut on the top of the fence but there isn't time to care and cry about it and he falls harshly on the other side-- Lu Han pulls him up and takes his hand and they run like hell.

Stupid youth.

They seem to run for hours, having already lost track of the other guys, feeling like they're being followed. Eventually, they duck behind one of the well-concealed entries to the subway station, safe and sound and still running on adrenaline. Their attention is fully on each other, their laboured breaths, their aching limbs and the blood running down Minseok's arm, so much that when Lu Han grabs Minseok's jaw and kisses the corner of his lips, ignoring the shock from the smaller boy's face, Minseok almost fails to see Sohee's mother on the other side of the street with Mark's mother. No doubt on their way home after their shift at the hotel, they stand frozen as they look at a very recognizable boy under a bright yellow light, tangled in another's embrace.

Bullshit youth.

He never sees Mark or Sohee again, except on the streets and the occasional day at the laundromat. He never tells Kyungsoo about it, just that he doesn't want to babysit anymore. In response, Kyungsoo pinches his cheeks and gets him a job at the restaurant downstairs.

 

o.0.o

 

October is when the autumnal feelings kicks in. The leaves start to colour, although they sometimes need encouragement, and the wind becomes the bit more biting. Hockey season also starts. Minseok's accepted his fate as a mere spectator and tries to follow every game on the radio or television. He's upped the ante and lights two candles for the Oilers' success every week. He enjoys the buildup to when the season gets real interesting later on. He does not, however, enjoy Lu Han walking around with a New York Rangers jersey.

They also start wearing coats and scarves and boots and sometimes Minseok sees Sohee or Mark all bundled up and walking past him. They do make him sad. Only the bit. It's their parents' scowls that hurt, but gossip hasn't spread whatsoever, at least.

October is a month of moderation: things change by the bit and life's just the bit more different from September. Autumn as a whole is a season of revolution, but only in unity.

Lu Han is now halfway settled, working in a delivery service to move boxes again because hey, he has experience and he's good at it. Later on he'll worry about having a career. He's back at Kris's place but looking to move out. Minseok's halfway settled in his transition from high school, now working regular hours in the kitchen and working through a bond with Sehun.

October is also Kyungsoo's favourite month. He doesn't have a clear reason why. It doesn't make him any more forgiving or lenient on the other hand; his lingering attractions to the month may not be enough to tamper with his mood.

Like now.

"I'm not giving either of you a choice. You will go to Junmyeon's and watch Return of the Jedi. You will take this money and buy food, and you won't get back in the house before the early hours of the morning. I don’t give a shit about what you do, so long as it's not illegal."

Kyungsoo is taller than Minseok, but only by two centimetres or so. He has a youthful face that clashes with the big bags under his eyes and the way he carries himself, but if you find the middle ground between his face and the rest, you have his real age. He's never made a first impression that leaves you whirling -- Kyungsoo's the gentle kind of plain, Baekhyun once said. To make it sound better he added: but only in comparison Kris. Despite that, Kyungsoo's like warm molasses. Minseok has always, always liked the warm molasses part of Kyungsoo.

Yet, and it might be a great pity, Kyungsoo can't always be like warm molasses. Sometimes Kyungsoo feels like a brick wall. Just smash your face right in and he won't budge. That's when Minseok realizes that Kyungsoo is the older one, the more mature one, the guardian out of the two of them.

Minseok whines from the steps from the kitchen's backdoor. He's peeling onions with Yixing. The tears in his eyes might convince Kyungsoo to let him stay. "But we wanted t'listen to the Céline Dion tape Jongdae let us borrow--"

"Look, I don’t give a shit. You will watch Star Wars and get the hell out of here."

Yixing laughs, a carefree kind of sound just as he cuts off the ends of an onion and throws them into the bin. He's just that way. Happy and carefree, still smiling after Minseok's glare and bumping their elbows together as a stand-in for a hair ruffle.

"Minseokkie, you get to eat whatever you want." He takes a soothing tone, almost cajoling, as he takes another onion out of Minseok's hands to cut the ends off. "Don't complain."

"Yeah, you heard Yixing, don't complain."

"Fine." Minseok throws a rotten onion into the bin; it catches the sides and rolls around the circumference of it before dropping down to join the rest of the trash.

"Oh, and Minseok." Kyungsoo adds. "Don't bring Lu Han.”

"W-what?" Minseok looks up from his work. Kyungsoo's never had any complaints about that tall dork. Then again, Kyungsoo's never had praise for him either. "Why?"

"He's trouble. Plus, the police are cracking down on organized crime in Chinatown; he'll be tangled in it for sure, in some form or another. " Kyungsoo tilts his head towards the newspapers they lined the floor with, engaging his eyes to follow. The headlines and menacing mugshots are pretty clear about the situation.

"But it's Lu H--"

He gets a very sharp glare in return. "Don't fight me on this."

When they finish the onions, Minseok dusts the bits ofonion from his legs and signs off his shift. Having finished his classes, Baekhyun picks him up and fights with Kyungsoo for a solid five minutes over the whole affair, but Kyungsoo's fucks to give have seriously been gone for a good decade or so and soon enough they’re both at the entrance to Junmyeon's apartment building.

"Are we men? Are we that weak-willed?" Baekhyun asks.

"Yeah."

Baekhyun rolls his eyes and pushes the door to the lobby open. "Well, at least we have money." He pushes in the number for Junmyeon's apartment and waits until they get buzzed in. "Get my wallet out."

Minseok goes for Baekhyun's jacket pockets and finds nothing. He pats him down and finds nothing. That's just Baekhyun's life. He's unable to keep track of things. If Minseok must break into another establishment, he won't.

"Well I'll be. It's on the kitchen counter, I'll bet you it's there. Hey, if you go get it I promise to keep you a good spot on the couch if Sehun's home and Jongdae or Yixing are staying over." Baekhyun winks and gives Minseok a small pat on his butt. Just like that, he's sent away.

Baekhyun loves treating Minseok like his slave. He curses the boy under his breath but still walks back home, his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

When he walks in front of the flower shop, Minseok finds Lu Han on the other side of the street. His hair looks nice today, like he made an effort when he got up. His clothes, too, his clothes; Minseok gets mixed up between his Tuesday and Wednesday schedules, but he's sure that he's off work now with the way he's dressed. Those jeans that make his legs look real nice (not to say that Minseok likes to see Lu Han's legs nor that Minseok likes how Lu Han looks nor that he imagines what Lu Han would feel nor that Minseok pays real special attention to what Lu Han wears and how it makes Lu Han look and if he likes it or not) and his denim jacket and red Pumas. Those red Pumas. Ace.

Lu Han stops walking and abruptly turns to his side to find Minseok staring at him on the other side of the street. He breaks into a bright smile and waves.

There. That gnawing feeling. There; eating away at him and making him bubble up in something he's unsure of, only sure of the apprehension part of it because Lu Han has forgotten how to use a phone.

If he had any pride, Minseok tells himself, not only now but every night when the apartment's all quiet save for Baekhyun's breathing right beside him, then he would stop talking to Lu Han or think about him. If he had any sense at all he would punch or at least curse him. He'd turn around and keep walking. He wouldn't have stayed with Lu Han the day after, and the day after that, and after that, let Lu Han sleep on his lap and hold him at the subway station or fix the cut on his arm. He'd have at least some spite left in him, because this was the guy who stole his second kiss. His only Second Kiss. If he knew he was to do that, Minseok would have never kissed Yixing in the first place. Kept his lips chaste with an English daisy's innocence.

Within all logic, Minseok waves back and shyly smiles, feeling warmth seep through his chest until it reaches his toes, and stays put as Lu Han jogs across the street.

"Min-seok-kie!" Lu Han ruffles Minseok's loose hair and swings him around so that Lu Han's arm is comfortably slung around his shoulder upon arrival. "I've been wondering why chickadees chirp but don't sing, but then I saw you looking so glum on the other side of the road, here."

"Baekhyun is still confused about the concept of object permanence." Minseok tells him as they start walking. Lu Han graces the air with his handsome smile and gets Minseok into a headlock, which seems to be the trend amongst their friends. "So I'm getting his - _argh_ \- wallet back."

"Dumbass. Yo, let's get some ice cream and stall."

"That's incredibly petty."

"And you're incredibly pretty-- wait, that came out wrong. I meant, you're _petty too_. Anyways, ice cream? Or popsicles, they're cheaper." Lu Han wheels them into the nearby newspaper shop and heads straight for the coolers. Dongwoo's at the cash and gives them a discount since they're good friends. He said that he wouldn't give it to Lu Han, but since Minseok's here and Minseok's just that deserving of a discount, Lu Han can have it. No, I don't care that you're his best friend. Hey, you know what? You're a rubbish best friend. Hey--

It goes on like that for a while until Lu Han tells Dongwoo to pound sand up his own ass and all three of them are left wondering how to _pound_ sand up your own ass. Minseok doesn't mind, he's unforgiving at times for Baekhyun ordering him around. The sun starts to set when they're sitting at the landing In front of Minseok's front door, legs dangling over the edge of the metal staircase and Minseok's lips and tongue stained purple.

"Hey." Minseok says. Lu Han replies with his own _hey_ and stops drumming his popsicle stick on the bars of the ramp. He likes these moments, when Minseok can say the tiniest thing and he's got all of Lu Han's attention. It gives him ideas. More importantly, ideas that lead again to that dreadful phone call and kisses. "D'you really think that I'm pretty?"

At first, Lu Han shrugs with his mouth, but then his eyes start to dart left, right, up and down, his head turning in all directions. Minseok follows, albeit crestfallen at Lu Han's initial reaction, and turns his head back to Lu Han once he finds nothing. There's nothing to see, not even someone on the street.

Lu Han leans forward, his forehead bumping into Minseok's head as he holds his hand in front of his mouth, ready to whisper a secret into Minseok's ear that's slowly turning pink.

" _Yeah. Impossibly so._ "

Minseok burns. He gets up abruptly, his knees banging into the staircase and making a loud, reverberating noise, calls Lu Han stupid, and gets his keys out with jittery hands. _I'm kidding_ , Lu Han calls out from behind him, _I'm kidding if it makes you that embarrassed, don't get all mad, birdie._

"I'm not mad," Lu Han gets up and leans against the doorframe, waiting for Minseok's struggling attempts of unlocking the door. He sneers mockingly at Minseok's comment. "You're just weird, you-- you gonna keep being all, um, weird?"

"Nah. You'll beat me up."

"I would." Minseok finally unlocks the door and glares. He immediately softens when he catches Lu Han's mirthful gaze, opting to pout instead and give a small, docile kick to his shin. He likes this, when they can easily fall back to their dynamic and feel comfortable with each other. "Be quiet."

Lu Han laughed quietly, trying to muffle himself into Minseok's hood. He wraps his arms around his waist and tugs him back flush against his chest, leaving Minseok to open the door feeling a bit woozy. There weren't any chain locks present, as it was when no one was home, so they slipped inside the apartment and toed their shoes off. Lu Han squeezed Minseok's waist before letting go and they both started to head straight to the kitchen where the silhouette of Baekhyun's wallet was, not bothering to turn on the lights.

They never made it. Minseok realized that they weren't alone. He held his hand out and blindly reached for Lu Han, eventually pulling him closer by the belt loops. Lu Han seemed to recognize this too and kept his mouth shut, an arm slung around Minseok's shoulder as if it were protection.

The door to the bedroom was cracked open, rather unusual because Kyungsoo always kept it closed. A sliver of yellow light pooled from it. Minseok looked back to the door and saw two pairs of shoes beside his and Lu Han's, carelessly thrown away as if in haste. Slowly, he took a step forward, Lu Han following him.

He was reminded of those times he would sneak into Lu Han's brother's house, creeping around corners and doors, afraid of the man. While he mostly stayed with Kris, his brother seemed to half-heartedly take Lu Han under his wing -- which was not to serious extents but guaranteed him a bedroom and some social standing. His bedroom was on the third floor of the old narrow building, and his brother dealt business on the two other levels. There was only one staircase. Often temperamental and his comrades straight out violent when interrupted, Lu senior was a terror when he was home. It never stopped Lu Han from idolizing him just a bit. Only the bit. It was, after all, what kept him placated when he was forced to tiptoe while trying to get to his bedroom or bringing Minseok over to watch a soccer or hockey game. Sometimes he'd pull Minseok down behind a door and crouch down, Minseok between his thighs and glued to his chest, as they'd wait for the older men to walk down the hallway.

A moan cuts his thoughts off.

But-- why ever, why-- Minseok opens his mouth and closes it in repetition, flopping around like a fish. Porn? Baekhyun once rented out a porn tape, mostly to giggle about it. But it sounded so… real. He turns around to find Lu Han's equally confused expression and he's pulled closer to the cracked door to investigate. They pause at the door hinges, breaths hitched in apprehension.

" _Chanyeol_ -"

Lu Han mouths "Kyungsoo". Minseok mouths "No". Mostly out of denial. If there's a voice he recognizes the best, it's Kyungsoo's.

" _Hey slow down I don't want a -_ ah _\- noise complaint--_ " Not-Kyungsoo moans again. Minseok leans the fraction forward and regrets it.

" _We've never gotten one so far--_ "

" _Just because Minseok and Baekhyun can get away with faking orgasms doesn't mean we're immune, you fucking -_ fuck _\- idiot--_ "

Lu Han's eyes widen at the second voice -- it is, after all, the voice of his co-worker: Park Chanyeol. The man who's been wearing the same basketball-shorts-and-track-jacket combo since 1972. Minseok steps back automatically, trying to mute all the moans and mortifying sounds of skin against skin; not just because he has walked into Kyungsoo having _homosexual_ relations, but because it's with Park Chan-Bruce-Springsteen-apostle-yeol. To clarify, Chanyeol, in Minseok's brain, had not committed a direct sin. He looked mostly inoffensive and keeps a turntable at the record store he spends half of his life in -- his own private temple of ecstasy -- and happily recommends and sells records and tapes on his spare time without getting paid. Moreover, Chanyeol was Kyungsoo's childhood friend and had this universal friendliness about him.

In Minseok's eyes however, which must now pop out of his pale and horrified skin, Chanyeol had committed every sin in the world. It makes his skin crawl, disgust burning in his throat.

Lu Han knows that, he knows every little inch squared, cubed of Minseok (by theory, not so by touch), so he pulls him towards the front door as quietly as they can manage.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand, birdie." Lu Han whispers, pulling a lifeless and wobbly Minseok with him outside. There isn't anything left to do but nod.

 

Minseok is devastated.

He's sunk into Junmyeon's couches with Lu Han passing his fingers through his hair, down his neck, tracing his collarbones and coming back up like the boy's trying to feel for a sign of life or warmth or anything with a name that's lucid. Everything feels wrong. Baekhyun has sensed the trace of distress, but hasn't acted on his thoughts yet. Instead, Sehun's inhaling all the pizza on an account of puberty and the rest of the couch-slumping guys are watching the movie. How completely vapid.

Junmyeon pauses to go pee. Just as he leaves, Baekhyun darts up from the other couch, shoves Lu Han onto the floor, and manhandles Minseok into the second bathroom of the house and onto on the sickly pastel pink toilet seat. Baekhyun takes a deep breath and keeps his pointer finger poised in the air. "You've seen something at home, haven't you?" He jabs his finger into Minseok's chest, making him teeter backwards slightly. "Tell me."

"It's a delicate matter."

"I tell you everything, and you tell me everything unless I figure it out first, so I'm asking you a second time: what have you seen?"

He legitimately contemplates saying it jokingly to take off the edge of the situation. Or maybe just put it bluntly. No need to make loops around the fact that-

"I saw Kyungsoo having sex with Chanyeol."

_"JUNMYEON, SEHUN ATE EVERYTHING!"_

_"HE HAS GROWING PAINS LEAVE HIM ALONE!"_

_"HE DOESN'T HAVE TO GROW ANYMORE HE'S A SKYSCRAPER!"_

Baekhyun falls back on the off-mint tile wall behind him. His head makes a loud, dry sound when it hits it, the acoustics better than Minseok would have thought. He leans forward on the toilet and digs his elbows into his thighs to cradle his face in his hands, watching Baekhyun's impassive and yet extremely revealing face go through five, ten, twenty and back ten to five stages of denial. The shock recedes when Minseok's elbows have left red circles in his thighs.

"Kyungsoo. With Chanyeol."

"Mm."

"Without us knowing."

"Mm."

"Move over, sweetheart." Baekhyun shoos Minseok on half of the toilet seat, his thigh barely on the edge as the other boy settles beside him. It's just the two of them in silence in that horrid pastel bathroom. Their black hair and caramel skin, panning out to a greater world where it's not the bathroom anymore and way, way out -- where their colours blur together until they become nothing, and yet within themselves being nothing, every little thing feels like it's big enough to be everything.

Maybe Baekhyun just thought about it, and that's why he takes Minseok's clammy little hand into his loose hold.

"Chanyeol hates me. Why's it got to be him?" Minseok suddenly asks. Baekhyun pushes him off and stares in disbelief, jaw hanging open. "I know he does."

"Minnie, that’s not true!" Baekhyun yells, not loud enough for others to hear on the other side with Star Wars playing and all that. "Minn--"

“You know what I heard eight years ago,” Minseok’s voice cracks mid-sentence but he tries to keep it steady. "Now he's dating Hyung."

"Minseok," Baekhyun held him tightly and squeezed the life out of him. "Hey, Seok, don't-- he doesn't have a reason to hate you, and even if he thought that, Hyung did such a good job in taking care of you-- he could never-- no, no he could never find a fault in it."

He hates that all he wants to do is recoil on himself and shut himself away. The whole thing makes him insecure and plays with the most vulnerable part of him; the most vulnerable part of Baekhyun, too, he's sure of it.

When their eyes meet again, Minseok is on the verge of crying with of a mix of frustration and just pure sad. He stayed in Baekhyun's arms, burying his face into his chest, waiting for time to pass and quell the burning in his eyes and throat.

Those minutes are all it takes for Baekhyun to crumble.

He's staring at nowhere when he says it. "He's stealing Kyungsoo away from me. That's what it feels like, and it's only been twenty minutes since the news. It's been twenty minutes and it feels like shit."

That most vulnerable part of Baekhyun, Minseok was right. That little possessiveness from having only Kyungsoo to rely on and Kyungsoo to love him unconditionally because who else would (apart from Minseok)?

"No," Minseok's the one to push him away, as if it were towards sanity. "Kyungsoo'll always love you, 'cause, 'cause you're his baby brother and he's been takin' care of you for so long, sent you to university with actual tears in those big eyes of his.”

"Then what are we supposed to do? Do you know how dangerous it is for him? Can we actually just pretend it never happened?"

There is, in the end, only one objective truth; it stands before them as much as it pains them. It's that their mouths are to be kept shut. Don't ask, don't tell, just live. Kyungsoo will still be Kyungsoo, warm molasses melting away, and even if it feels like he's receding they'll have to pretend he's not.

The other truth is that both are irrationally emotional about this, but that's a truth they will never acknowledge.

 

o.0.o

 

Ignorance is difficult to abide to. It feels like lying, almost. It's been three weeks of saying their good-nights and good-mornings and for Minseok, seeing Kyungsoo at work. The days get colder and they feel lonelier.

Lu Han said that living by ignorance was not a good idea. His parents had done it for years, and it only caused Lu Han harm. It just ends in drastic decisions, like deporting your son against his will. He said so while he unloaded boxes of produce and spent his break helping Minseok peel garlic. Said so with a wise face that was unusual, chucking garlic cloves into a red bucket. He cut the skin under his nail while sneezing and Minseok put a band-aid around even if it wasn't going to help or anything. Lu Han kept it for two days.

Yixing didn't know what to say. Minseok's descriptions of the situation were vague enough, making it impossible to give advice. Instead, he took Minseok out for a ride and they spent two hours by the riverbed, way out Chinatown and the immigrant ghettos and city life. The day was warm enough and the sun felt heaven-kissed. The ground was covered in bright red leaves, yellow leaves carried away by the current. Minseok picked out wildflowers and cattails and gave them to Baekhyun and Sehun -- the younger boy was conveniently there when he came back home -- keeping the best ones for Kyungsoo. He wore a flower chain on his head courtesy of Yixing.

Kris said to deke Kyungsoo when Minseok delivered his take-out at the barbershop. How, Minseok doesn't know, but he was to deke Kyungsoo. The opportunity never presented itself; Kyungsoo never seemed to notice that Minseok walked in on his intimate times. After some musing, he concluded that his display of ignorance was a deke itself.

Baekhyun never had a course of action, he only abided to his own emotions, namely betrayal.

"Doesn't it make you mad that he never said anything? They've known each other since kindergarten, they could've been dating behind our backs for years."

"I'm hiding something from him, too. You know we can't, can't really hate him for doing that. It's hard for him. It's just-- just that I'm keepin' it a secret too."

"But you're not dating."

"…Mm."

"But doesn’t it also make you mad that I could see through you and not him?"

Baekhyun asked him that when they were at the boxing studio some afternoon, sitting on the edge of the canvas with their legs hanging out and their arms resting on the ropes. Lu Han was laying down next to Minseok. He was staring at the way Lu Han's chest went up and down as he breathed, his father's dog tags (retired soldier, Vietnam veteran) following his movements.

He didn't say a single word. He pretended that his hand wraps were mighty interesting.

Understanding that he hit a dead end, Baekhyun slowly took off his hand wraps too, whistling a small tune to match what's playing on the radio. He shimmied his shoulders and stretched his fingers out once he got them off, shoving the piece of cloth into the pockets of his shorts. The main goal was that he wouldn't need gloves or hand wraps anymore; Byun Baekhyun, the Bare Knuckled Boxer, was supposed to be a thing.

"I understand why birdie would hate Chanyeol," Lu Han suddenly speaks up. Baekhyun's eyebrows furrow, wondering how Lu Han knew they were talking about the whole Chanyeol thing. Then again, Korean or English, Lu Han has some intuition when it comes to Minseok. Minseok shifts on the canvas to lie down on his stomach next to Lu Han. His shorts ride up until his tan line shows and Lu Han pinches the white skin, amused. "Just by considering what Chanyeol's said about him in the past. But Baekhyun, really? Just because your brother's with a man?"

Minseok narrows his eyes, trying to figure those words out. That definitely means something about Lu Han.

"No, because he's with the wrong type of man! Why Chanyeol? Why not Kris?"

"Kris?" Minseok asks while tugging Lu Han's hands away from his hips.

"He's taller than Chanyeol. He was a pretty damn good hockey player until his injury when he was twenty. He runs his own barbershop. He gets along with us way better. He was part of Hyung's punk gang back in the day. He's _hot_." Baekhyun enumerates, showing six fingers for every count of Kris' assets. "Chanyeol's done nothing but call Minseok a burden eight years ago and give me crappy, store-bought birthday cards."

Well, there it is.

Baekhyun stops talking because Uptown Girl starts playing through the studio amongst the sound of punching and grunting and everything masculinity is said to be, and Baekhyun insists on being a Downtown Man. Lu Han takes the opportunity to slide his hands up from Minseok's upper thighs and hips to rake his nails across his ribs, earning a loud burst of pained laughter. Minseok rolls on his side and wraps his arms around himself, but Lu Han wiggles his fingers through and continues to tickle him. He's laughing so hard it hurts and God he might throw up on Lu Han while crying. He spasms and knees Lu Han in the process, tears now gathering in his eyes. Lu Han gets hit in the chest and retaliates by pulling a writhing Minseok up by the armpits and bringing a leg up to lock him in his hold, mercilessly tickling him. Arching his back to try and wiggle out, he blindly throws his arms back and grabs at Lu Han's face. After a lot of crying and swears on Minseok's part and grappling on the canvas, he ends up straddling Lu Han with his knees pinning his arms down, catching his breath.

Baekhyun passes his hand through Minseok's dishevelled bangs and whistles. "Baby's got some fighting spirit, good job." He coos over Minseok, not minding the strange looks the three of them are getting from the handful of people in the studio.

At that precise moment, just when Minseok moves down to free Lu Han's arms and settles comfortably on the boy's stomach, delicately putting his hands on Lu Han's chest, a tall man enters the studio. The first notes of Ghostbusters coincide with his first steps inside.

Baekhyun is the first to notice. He scowls immediately and drops all sickly-sweet and loving gazes. Minseok opens his mouth to question why and immediately closes it.

Baekhyun chuckles darkly. "So the accused, Mr. Park, decides to enter court in the presence of the plaintiff, Mr. Byun, the witness, Mr. Kim, and the jury, Mr. Lu?" He’s using fancy court-speak because he’s writing about important cases during the Civil Rights movement for the university newspaper.

Minseok slides off Lu Han and sits back on the edge of the ring, eyeing Chanyeol. Baekhyun gets up, pretending to stretch, but he's just trying to size him up. Minseok rests his arms on the ropes, looking between them. His white tank top is loose enough to give way to the ugly bruises covering his chest from that time he accidentally rammed into one of the corners of the ring, his blue shorts back on in a respectable manner, and his eyes solely on the man he paints as a traitor.

Chanyeol waves at them and heads straight for them. God, he looks so friendly. God, his tennis shoes are so clean. God, even his cap makes him look dorky in a happy way. God, Minseok's irritated.

"Hullo."

"Hello there, _Chanyeol_." Baekhyun deliberately leaves the _-hyung_ out.

Chanyeol's expression wavers. "Ah, I was, uh, talking to your brother and I just wanted to stop by. After all these years I never thanked either of you for taking good care of him, so I thought I could make up for it." He sheepishly explains, holding up a white paper bag. Minseok looks at him quizzically. That makes no sense. Objectively non-sequitur. He's lacking a better introduction and build-up to the situation, immediately jumping into whatever he's trying to do. Plus, he almost never talks to them.

Oh, he's up to something, as poor as his plan may seem. Almost as scheming as Sehun can be, although Minseok knows Sehun has no ill intent. They're building a budding friendship that leaves both feeling okay about the world. Sehun never remembers special triangles (30-60-70? 20-40-80? 45-45-45?) but he remembers that Junmyeon worries for him, although that knowledge can't bring fruit.

Chanyeol opens his paper bag, smiling brightly as he sticks a hand inside. Baekhyun and Minseok still stay behind the ropes with their best Disinterested expression. After some rustling he turns to Baekhyun and chuckles like some old man; maybe the one that owns the antiques store. He's a Chinese traditionalist and he used to frown a lot when Minseok entered the store. Old people, Japanese or Chinese, don't like each other or Koreans either, unless the family's been here for generations. It's like an infernal hate-triangle.

"I had a bit of Kyungsoo's help in picking these out, so you should like it." He hands Baekhyun a thick brown envelope with a toothy smile. Baekhyun accepts it from the tip of his hands and passes the package between the ropes, a sour look on his face. "I went all to the other side of the city for this! They look really swell."

Minseok and Lu Han watch as Baekhyun drops the package flat on the canvas with a small _splat!._  It sounded heavy. The boy finally garners a bit of respect to show that Kyungsoo did not raise his brother to be a salty asshole and gives a tiny smile, far from the boxed one he so easily gives. "Wow. Thanks."

It's enough for Chanyeol. He turns to Minseok.

"Minseok too. I, uh, did not realize you were into this so I thought I was mistaken, but apparently not. Hey, you do you, little guy." With another bright smile, he hands Minseok the paper bag itself. It feels a bit heavy. Lu Han snorts at _little guy_ and gets a glare in return from Minseok's part. He would like to state that he isn't small at all, rather, he's fun-sized.

He also would like to state that he doesn't have the heart to hate Chanyeol to the extent he usually does, so he gives a good enough smile and a semi-honest "Thank you."

Chanyeol stands there for a while a bit awkwardly until he realizes that they're not going to open their packages in front of them. With another toothy grin, he excuses himself under the pretense of work and like that, he's gone. Vanished. Banished. To a more dramatic extent: dead to them.

Baekhyun is the first to talk. "Before we discuss anything, we have to open these and find out his motive. He enters our domain of justice without giving his oath, only to give us goods? He's even buying off the witness!" He shouts as he tears open the brown envelope and turns it upside down for a dramatic reveal. Comic books pour out. They flop and splatter on the canvas. Lu Han's grabby hand takes one before it hits the ground and eagerly reads the cover:

"Supergirl?" He says, flipping it front and back and front again. "Oddly specific choice. They're all Supergirl."

Minseok raises his eyebrows. Baekhyun's been wanting those since forever because he has this weird crush on Supergirl with her blonde curls and mini-skirt, so much to the point that even Jongdae has a soft spot for her. He painted a mural in her image, once upon a summer day. Curious, he opens his own package delicately and peers inside.

He immediately lets go of it like it burned his fingers.

Baekhyun gets a peek inside and he can see the lightbulb above his head.

"Shit. Kyungsoo's suspicious. He's onto us."

If Chanyeol wanted to be pleasant, he could've done fine with a pack of hockey cards. This suggests otherwise.

Minseok sighs and falls back down on the canvas, drawn into Lu Han’s chest by the boy’s strong arms. His heartbeat’s clear and muffled at the same time, just enough to bring him to a small level of peace.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi welcome to chili's  
> this chapter actually got cut in half cause it was too damn long, but im not sure when the next part will get done so hold on pls, theres a scene i really like cause xiuhan get their shit together  
> thanks for reading! that's real swell of yall!!  
> big thanks to the bros and the dudes


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok realizes that they do love each other.

 

1984, mid-autumn. Sun's Dim Sum House enjoyed better business after the Lucky Dragon closed. Kyungsoo enjoys a better paycheck, but remained wary of the two boys in his home.

 

 

Minseok is drowning in Lu Han's bomber jacket. He might have sheep wool in his mouth but the jacket smells so strongly of the cheap aftershave Lu Han wears. Baekhyun doesn't accompany them home: he made a beeline for the punching bags while Minseok gently untangled himself from Lu Han to make his way out of the studio. He took the paper bag with him, the handles digging into his wrists.

So here stands the material aspect of purpose: suspicion roused in Kyungsoo, a crawling feeling that he'd been discovered -- he's a private type of man, and his actions are carefully weighed. Secrets are supposed to remain secret with him. Their dislike for Chanyeol isn't obvious, but there mustn't be a single thing about Chanyeol which escapes Kyungsoo. Their dislike which runs deep for eight years won't be mended easily, and Baekhyun's right: it is bribery. 

"Lemme see."

"Han, no."

"C'mon."

"Hannie, no."

"Birdie! Please!"

"Lu-ge," Minseok turns to his side and puts his best Pleading face on, the one that lets him get what he wants most of the time. "Lu-ge, please-please-please-please-please-pleeeeaaaaseeee?"

Lu Han guffaws, his face a bit ugly in the way it's contorted, but Minseok can see how he's biting his cheek to keep a smug smile from appearing. He stops trying to dive his hands into the paper bag and opts for shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Is Chanyeol always that weird?" He asks when Lu Han's back at his side. The boy laughs and shakes his head.

"No, he's just… Free-spirited. Yeah, free-spirited. Works on his whims. I honestly never thought he banged Kyungsoo on the regular, there weren't like, any giveaways. For the best, I guess, for the best." Lu Han says, dropping his voice low so that Minseok's the only one to hear. He can't help but agree; things like this should be kept secret.

But not from your brother and legal child. Not from your legal child whose five times he ever cried in the last five years counts three heartbreaks over boys. Not from your legal child who kissed not one, because one didn't really cut it, but two boys.

"He's Jongdae's cousin; I mean, there has to be some part of him that's a bit angelic. If it doesn't run in the family, Jongdae must be humanity's black pearl." Lu Han pulls Minseok behind him as they cross the road, an arm bracketing his frame. Some teenaged dumbass was speeding pass them on their motorcycle. "But I mean, if I knew what was inside your bag I'd tell you more."

"Patience is a virtue."

"Virtue can suck my dick."

It rained in the morning, so the stairs are a bit slippery as they climb them. Lu Han ends up, with a dramatic huff and roll of his eyes, hoisting Minseok up with an arm around his waist and his hand in his. Minseok still manages to fuck up and slip on the stairs. Rain's peculiar, he thinks. The way it beads on the black metal of the stairs and drips down, becomes frost in the early morning and makes Lu Han's black hair look like obsidian, the way it beads on Lu Han's skin, too, he supposes when the boy brushes his hand on the railing, catching some old raindrops. Raindrops that are wiped on Minseok's jacket and that's it, that's how they disappear. A peculiar life span. Life's just fleeting.

A lot of things are fleeting. Minseok and Lu Han close the door behind them and the first thing Lu Han does is swipe the paper bag from him. He doesn't have the energy to run after him once he bolts to sit in the middle of the living room, instead tiredly taking the bomber jacket off and heading towards the bedroom (Kyungsoo's). It might not be so, but he feels like Kyungsoo's love is fleeting.

He crouches down to take out the shoebox from under the bed and comes back to the living room to find Lu Han seated, the paper bag untouched. A bit surprised, he settles himself on the living room floor next to Lu Han.

"What's in the bag?" Lu Han asks, watching as Minseok takes the lid off the shoebox. So he really did listen. He hums in response, too concentrated on taking out his three flavours of Kissing Potion, five sticks of Bonne Bell lip-smackers including Dr. Pepper, his half-empty bottle of Love's Baby Soft, his Hocus-Pocus Pink peel-off nail polish, and the little hand mirror Baekhyun once swiped from the bootleg antiques store. He aligned all of his bottles so that the writing faced him before turning his attention to the paper bag.

Lu Han crawls behind Minseok and wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him across the floor so that his back is flush to Lu Han's chest. His chin settles in the dip between his neck and his shoulder and his eyes go straight to the bag. Minseok's fingers stutter and he hiccups a bit. Just a bit.

Minseok pulls out the pink and flowery packaging from the bag and expects Lu Han to guffaw. The funniest thing is that Kyungsoo doesn't really like this part of Minseok, he thinks it's weird. But here it is, delivered by his legal father's secret boyfriend who might be trying to placate him over his secret accidental discovery.

"A package with Tinkerbell body wash, cologne, lotion, and bubble bath?" Lu Han confirms, stupefied. He unwinds one arm from Minseok's waist to pick up the lotion bottle, looking at the blue label with the girl in her poofy hat and apron, looking like the countryside and honeysuckle. But Minseok's not done. Lu Han might not as amazed as Minseok is now, but then he pulls out the cherry on the sundae.

The Tinkerbell Powder Doll.

He saw the it a couple of weeks ago at the department store. It was one of the prettiest things he'd ever seen, something no one would have bought him when he was a kid. Baekhyun says that Minseok has a girly taste. Feminine, he said, at his age would be somewhat (the statement is a stretch) acceptable, but girly is just plain weird. That's the main reason why he didn't give into temptation.

Lu Han whistles once it's out of the bag and he takes the box in his hands to read the back. " _East meets west in this unique package created by Tinkerbell. From one of Far Easts' fine doll shops comes a hand-sewn, hand decorated miniature doll paired with Tinkerbell's flower fresh dusting powder in decorated powder box with puff. This dainty doll is a wonderful addition to anyone's drawer collection; the dusting powder box ideal for knick-knacks after the powder is gone. Another example of how Tinkerbell offers the unique in cosmetic gifts for very young ladies_."

He puts the box down. "You're not a very young lady. Why the fuck is Chanyeol buying you this? Baekhyun was right, it's bribery. He shouldn't be doing this. He's probably guilty for having done terrible things." Lu Han spits out, arms back to Minseok's waist and hugging him tight. His Real Meaningful hugs are when he crushes you and makes your body bend with the force he's squeezing you with.

"Y'were calling him a good guy half and hour ago," Minseok snorts. He carefully opens the box to take the five-inch doll out, smoothing his fingers over the lace bonnet and little white apron. "Two-faced bastard."

"Birdie, I'll buy you better things." Lu Han proclaims. "I'll buy you Kissing Slicks and Kissing Koolers if you want. I'll buy you more expensive things. I'll buy you the best perfume bottle you've ever seen, in glass, from those haute couture French brands. I'll buy you mood lipstick, you know, the green one that's gonna turn peach on your pretty lips. I'll buy you every shade of nail polish, even the frosted ones I said were pretentious 'cause I take it back, it'd look the best on your little toes. I'll do it all, I promise. No matter how long it takes." He buries his face into Minseok's neck and smiles, making Minseok wonder if it's smug or genuine.

Minseok turns his head, prompting Lu Han to lift his head up and stare into Minseok's eyes. "If y'do all that for me, what do I do for you?"

"Just smile." Lu Han says. "Smile." He leans forward and kisses his forehead, a soft kiss that lasts for a handful of seconds. Kisses that shouldn't be so. Shouldn't be like this. Funny, that's funny, 'cause Minseok thinks it should be so, or at least wishes it would be so, but that's the inevitable. Wishes he could melt into Lu Han's arms and just disappear and only be conjured back to life whenever Lu Han wants to hold him. "You don't have to do anything but be there, Minseokkie. With all your bruises and bite and long hair and sweetest fragrances, with your cute way of talkin' and the weird things you say."

Minseok feels himself blush from head to toe, completely taken by a sudden rush of affection stronger than usual. He thumbs across the details of the doll's face to distract himself from wanting to hear more.

At the same time, he wishes they would never have to say anything, because--

"Lu Han, it's not… right for us to do this, is it?" He softly says, completing his thoughts. He turns around again, putting the doll aside before starting to place his new bottles and powder box in the shoebox. Lu Han sighs heavily and slumps forward on Minseok's back.

"Is anything right?" He asks, nudging his forehead into his back. "Jongdae said so, once: Youth arrives with new definitions of right."

Minseok caves in to Lu Han's baiting. "Then shed light on how confusin' everythin' is."

Lu Han doesn't.

He doesn't say a word.

Instead, he presses a small kiss to his shoulder, which becomes a kiss to the base of his neck, which slowly trails upwards as if to make a point and finishes by gracing his pierced earlobe. Lu Han leaves goosebumps and a pink flush behind, and at this point Minseok knows that they've passed friendship. They just don't want to admit it. He closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side, biting his lip to not embarrass himself. Their silence is comfortable, the world falling into perfect order when they're like this.

"You kinda taste nice." Lu Han says. Minseok's grossed by the comment but chooses to focus on the part that makes his heart skip a beat. There's a sloppier kiss where his neck and shoulder meet. "Like strawberries." He hums.

Minseok bites his lips even harder and searches for Lu Han's hand as a distraction. He feels hot all over and his clammy hands latch onto Lu Han's fingers, squeezing the digits. "… Must be th-the…"

Lu Han nods even if Minseok never finishes his sentence and presses a small kiss under his ear, where one of Minseok's small moles is. Minseok squeezes Lu Han's hand tighter.

"Why now?" Minseok asks softly as he drops his head back onto Lu Han's shoulder, a red bloom still gracing his features. He looks up into his eyes. "D'you know where we're supposed to be going with this?"

"Do you want a real answer?" Lu Han asks, a quiet, all-knowing type of smile on his lips. Minseok keeps staring at the way his eyes catch the reflections of the light pouring through the windows and nods. "Mm, I had two role models."

"Oh, two role models."

"Yes. And you don't like one of them very much, but they taught me a lot." Minseok lets go of Lu Han's hands so that he can pull at the dead skin of his own lips, thoughtful (he licks off most of his lip-smackers; they're called lip-smackers for a reason). "Because I don't think they know where they're going either, but they still decided that wherever it would be, it's a good idea."

"Mm," Minseok wonders a bit. "Like courage."

"Yeah, like courage."

"Courage to do what?"

"Lots."

Minseok watches Lu Han run his hand through his own short black hair, toying with the ends as a pink blush settles on his cheeks. Minseok's charmed. It's charming. Not so enchanting but charmingly charming and he's charmed.

"But Lu-ge, aren't you scared?" Minseok asked, shyly glancing away. "It's dangerous. Even for Hyung and Chanyeol it's dangerous."

"You seem to forget who my brother is. I have a reputation."

"Your brother doesn't like you."

"Fair, but no one else knows that." Lu Han lightly replies. "I'll be the one to protect you, because I want to. I do want to."

"Lu-ge--"

Lu Han gasps loudly like the air's been punched straight put of him and Minseok jumps right out of his skin. He scrambles to get up and almost skids as he bolts to the front door to put his shoes back on.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, my shift's in five minutes! _Fuck_!" Lu Han yells, biting some gross cuticles off his thumb. It's a panicked type of habit.

"Y'can't leave at the important part!" Minseok whines as the door opens, a cold breeze flooding in. Lu Han was so close to it all, almost making Minseok's heart burst into a thousand pieces with electricity running through his body, happiness pouring into his veins. Lu Han doesn't have the right to leave.

Lu Han pants a bit, cheeks turning red at the cold gale. His hand is on the door, gripping it harshly. "I can't get to the important part yet. I need to confirm something before. I'm sorry."

Minseok hates Lu Han.

 

Sehun arrives later in the day and asks why Minseok looks like shit. Minseok flips him the bird and makes him do trig identities.

At night, Lu Han throws a rock at the window and waves at Minseok with a sheepish smile.

Regrettably, Minseok still likes Lu Han.

 

o.0.o

 

Jongdae came over. It might've been Tuesday, because Baekhyun came home at around nine p.m. and his Introduction to British Literature class ends at eight, and it takes an hour to bus to Chinatown. But anyways, Jongdae came because Minseok broke out in a rash some days after Chanyeol's arrival and he can guarantee you that it's not an allergic reaction.

Jongdae comes from a big family. The whole of his extended family moved here in the late fifties and kept having children, so Jongdae knows a lot about babies and toddlers. And kids are great with getting rashes.

"It looks like a stress rash," Jongdae said while Minseok has to take the time to understand that it's a real thing. They were comfortably lazing around in their pyjamas, Minseok tired from a long day in the kitchens. He was lying over the crumpled duvet of the futon in the living room, face buried into the covers with his shirt scrunched up to expose his back. Baekhyun was flipping through the channels, hair still damp from his shower. Kyungsoo was holed up in his bedroom, wiped out after his usual evening shift. "You smell nice by the way. New lotion?"

Minseok thought he still smelled like soup.

"The one I told you Chanyeol bought for him." Baekhyun fills in. Baekhyun can't keep a secret from him. Jongdae wasn't perturbed by Kyungsoo and Chanyeol's secrets, only miffed by the fact that it caused so much disturbance within the small family. Baekhyun moves back to sit near Minseok and puts his head on his lap, stroking his long black hair.

"Wait, _heartbreak_ rash. Look, this one's in the shape of a heart."

"A bumpy, pink heart." Baekhyun laughed. He finally stopped looking through channels and settled on 9, where Dallas was playing. "You've ever seen a heartbreak rash, Dae?"

"Nope, I only know rashes from the family's babies. They don't know what love is. Hey, get me the thick cream I once put on your nettle rash." Jongdae tells Baekhyun. Once the boy leaves, Jongdae prods Minseok's nape to get his attention. "Listen, about Chanyeol-hyung."

"…What?"

"He's really sorry. I know this 'cause that's what he does when he wants to apologize but doesn't know what for. He says that apologizing with words only means something when you can fully admit your wrongdoings. Remember my marbles when we were eleven? I was dead sure Chanyeol-hyung accidentally threw them out and I gave him the silent treatment for two weeks. He ended up buying me that cheap telescope we could only barely see the moon which we adapted to spy on the neighbours, remember?" Jongdae tugs on Minseok's shirt to pull it off his head, inspecting the rash on his neck. "Knew he did me wrong, but didn't know how."

Minseok won't admit yet that Chanyeol's still stressing him out. Ignoring was fine until they knew that both men were onto them.

"Did you really get a rash over this? I know that what Kyungsoo-hyung is doing is risky, but I wish you could come back to your senses. You can’t hate Chanyeol-hyung forever for something he said when he was eighteen and immature, probably out of concern for Kyungsoo-hyung. That is, unless there's bigger implications with this."

Minseok turns on his back, hair askew as he looks up to Jongdae. "Implication that… It's supposed to be hidden from people you're close with. Implication that Hyung doesn't trust us, love us."

"But he does love you. And you love him. There you go, happy days."

"I jes' don't like how long things are stretching out. Why hasn't Hyung said anything yet? And, and I still don’t like Chanyeol." He pouts. Jongdae laughs airily and runs his forefinger across Minseok's collarbones, where his rash is less prominent. They stayed like that for a while until Baekhyun threw the pot of cream at Jongdae upon his return.

Jongdae kept prodding at his rashes, tracing circles around them which turned his skin ticklish. His eyes were trained on the television, his mind somehow able to wrap itself around the twists and turns of Dallas, and still, somehow -- another somehow because Jongdae appears to be that much of a fantastical being -- delivers Luke 17:3-4 as if it were his casual breath.

"If brother or sister sin against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them. Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying 'I repent', you must forgive them."

Baekhyun whistles, sitting on the futon and stealing all the covers. "Impressive."

"Come on, I ain't doing bible study and theology for nothin'." He nonchalantly replies, unscrewing the lid. Minseok flinches away at the initial cold touch but slowly eases as Jongdae rubs the thick cream on his burning skin. "May he call you a burden, a mistake a hundred times and may you damn him; but buy you forgiveness a hundred times, you gotta let it be so. Let his words be only for Kyungsoo when he told him that raising a kid from foster care would be burdensome (and other mean things, but we won’t mention them), not for you. Live and let die."

Jongdae slips Minseok's shirt over his head and smiles. He's suddenly extremely grateful for all of this -- that he's confused but Jongdae helps clear some of the mess up, that he knows through this experience that he can't possibly lose Jongdae if Minseok-- if Minseok does, you know, if Minseok can… You know, the kiss. With the kiss, if the kiss went-- goes further, further like Lu Han kissing his neck and Lu Han saying honeyed words which made him forget about Chanyeol and his Tinkerbell cosmetics, and even further than that.

"Baek, that applies to you too."

"I didn't do anything."

"You glare at Chanyeol if he does anything but breathing; correction, you damn him for breathing too." Jongdae tells him. He turns away from Baekhyun to focus on Dallas.

"I'd damn you for breathing too."

"I'd damn you for--"

Someone laughs.

Minseok scoots back real fast on the futon, into Baekhyun's side. Baekhyun scoots back into Minseok and they stare at Jongdae who looks around the room, curious, not terrified at all. He’s looking at the bedroom door. "Does Kyungsoo-hyung have a phone in there?" He asks. Minseok nods.

"It's old, we thought it was broken an' just junk."

"Guess not, then. I bet it's Chanyeol on the other end." Baekhyun snickers. Jongdae instantly perks up at the remark, eyes bright and lips curling at the ends, like when he's got spray paint in his hands.

"Wanna check?"

"What?"

"We can just listen in."

"Oh my God. You're right." Baekhyun quickly matches Jongdae's glee and bolts up, pulling Minseok with and Jongdae in tow. They quickly squeeze into the bathroom, Baekhyun becoming the portrait of exhilaration. Minseok's not really trying to incriminate Baekhyun by stating that if he did know Kyungsoo's old phone worked, he would definitely be spying on everyone, because it's just the truth. Jongdae's usually a good kid, but he has his flaws. Minseok's just the plus one. This time, however, he sees some worth in it; only because it's concerning the man who probably cries over Led Zeppelin.

Baekhyun takes the receiver in his hands, carefully covering the bottom with his palm and keeping a tight hold so that no sound would pass through. He grinned widely while he watched Minseok lock the bathroom door, eyes speaking with urgency as the two other boys huddled up on the counter, next to him. Minseok doesn't know if this is morally right or not, but forgiveness must take reason to forgive; and reasons must be found some way or another. They're all unwilling to confront each other and the back door is the only option left.

Jongdae keeps a firm grip on his waist when Minseok leans forward to put his ear next to Baekhyun's. The tone of the conversation seems to have changed since Kyungsoo's laughter.

" _\--o, I really mean it, you're definitely not the problem_." Chanyeol's deep voice comes through first with a cajoling tone, sugar-sweet and it throws Minseok off. It's a bit ironic because if Minseok recalls accurately, Chanyeol's been wanting to become an MC since 1979. " _Soo, it's just because they don't like me. You should see the way your brother glares at me, it's flipping daggers he's shooting at me._ "

Jongdae slips Minseok onto his lap so that they can both lean into the receiver better. Baekhyun starts to bite his lip, a habit reserved for gossiping.

 _"But they've been avoiding me. Babe--_ " Minseok slaps his hand on Baekhyun's mouth before he can even think about snorting, gagging, vomiting, or crying out at the pet name. He cringes too, but keeps quiet about it. Pet names are so stupid, he'd rather die than have one. " _They just hate it for what it is._ "

There's absolute silence on Chanyeol's end while Kyungsoo's breathing becomes irregular, more emotional. Jongdae's mouth is hanging open. This must be better than Dallas.

" _… You're kidding me._ " The reply is a bit quiet and grainy through the receiver. Chanyeol starts to laugh, a scratchy sort of voice, startling Jongdae. " _Are you serious? Soo, you don't know?_ "

It's Minseok's turn to keep his mouth agape, gripping Baekhyun’s shoulder harshly. " _Jesus Christ Chanyeol, know what?_ "

" _Minseok's pretty_ fuckin' _gay too. Anyone picking a fight with him will call him a fag, that's the standard insult -- but they're not_ wrong."

Oh my God, Minseok just got outed in front of Jongdae by a third party.

The worst part is that Jongdae doesn't even bat an eye. If Baekhyun told him, Minseok's going to kill him. No one seems to pay attention to his crisis; Baekhyun's even twisting the cord like he's chasing something juicy.

" _You've been wondering where Minseok goes during his thirty minute breaks; thing is, Lu Han spends a lot of time at Preston where the warehouse is instead of delivery._ " Minseok reddens: it starts with his ears and then his neck and cheeks, and soon enough he's burning.

" _Since the loading zone's outside you can walk in and out, right? So, I usually catch Minseok walking there. Just before he turns the corner he just undoes his braid and fixes his hair, pats his cheeks like he wants to give them a blush, then goes to find Lu Han. No one pays attention to him, he's just some kid to us. And he goes to find Lu Han and twirls his hair when he talks to him and if Lu Han's too busy, goes to sit on those concrete stairs and watches him work. For the full twenty-ish minutes_."

He leaves this plane of existence, where Jongdae and Baekhyun aren't pinching his sides and ass and cheeks and silently cooing. He's used to Baekhyun doing it but having Jongdae there makes him embarrassed, and having both is mortifying.

" _And you know what? Lu Han's no better 'cause he always ends up staring at Minseok too and then they do stupid little smiles at each other until Minseok leaves._ "

Kyungsoo wants to die too, apparently, because his first reaction is a dragged-out sigh. " _Chanyeol, you have to be kidding me._ "

" _I'm telling the truth as much as I tell you that I love you._ "

" _What the hell._ "

" _Say you love me too._ "

" _No, it's uncalled for._ "

" _Hey, c'mon, I know you do._ "

" _Okay, fine. I lov--_ "

That was the precise moment when Baekhyun hung up. "I'm frankly disturbed that Kyungsoo went from punk to that pile of mush." He comments.

They go out of the bathroom one by one with three-minute increments. Baekhyun goes out first and increases the volume of the T.V. to mask the door creaking when Jongdae and Minseok tiptoe out. Intrepid as usual, Jongdae presses his ear to the bedroom door to make sure that Kyungsoo's still on his phone (he gags, probably catching more lovey-dovey bits).

When they go to bed, Minseok's squished between Baekhyun and Jongdae. With cold feet and shivering a bit, he's more than happy to be in the middle.

"… I don't like it." Baekhyun whispers after the lights are turned off. Jongdae tries to move closer to Baekhyun and Minseok ends up with his legs tangled with some scrawny teen's and his face in Baekhyun's chest. "You could hear how much Chanyeol loves Hyung. It makes me feel bad."

"You can't change a person's heart. Try as hard as you can, you won't make their heart sway. That's why you have to learn to forgive." Jongdae replies.

"We don't have a choice, do we?" Minseok whispers back. He feels Baekhyun shrug.

"Exactly." Jongdae whispers a bit louder. "There's situations where there's nothing to do but forgive."

The words sink in. Some drunkards outside are being loud and create some odd sort of ambience, makes Minseok think of artsy movies where everything's ironic. The mumbles from Kyungsoo's bedroom cease, and both Jongdae and Baekhyun's grips on Minseok suddenly tighten. He's a bit annoyed, but Minseok won't hate on a good cuddle.

"Hey Jongdae, unhand my nephew."

"Don't call him that, it makes you sound like the pervy uncle. Minseokkie likes me better, right?" Jongdae sing-songs the last phrase and pulls Minseok closer to his chest. Baekhyun's reply is a tug at Minseok's leg. "I'm keeping him. I figured out why he smells so good; he smells like lilacs and sunlight."

"Lilacs?" Baekhyun lets go of Minseok and props himself up on his arm again, that stupid supposedly seductive pose he so likes. "Like _Green Grow the Lilacs_ and Johnny Cash?"

"No." Jongdae sneers. "Like June, nitwit."

Minseok closes his eyes tries to pretend that the darkness exists in silence and pulls him into a lull. With his eyes shut it's completely black, until -- you know, those faint dots that float under your eyelids, in the darkness, and sometimes become images because your sight from closed eyes evolves from nothing to imagination only, transition so smooth you never notice -- he sees lilacs only.

Lilacs and Chanyeol are suddenly in his mind: lilacs and forgiveness. Things like lilacs and forgiveness, say lilacs for forgiveness not for sense but for how those words sound. Because lilacs bloom in June, sweet perfume mixing with the sun, bloom at the start of summer; and forgiveness blooms at the start of truth, sweet perfume of trust. Lilacs, small little things in white and pink and purple for him to twirl between his fingers and leave weaved in his hair -- forgiveness he carries with him, both his and others', also carries forgiveness for Lu Han as if it were the purple lilacs from under the boy's bedroom window, carry it kindly with love.

And if there ever is no more reason for Lu Han's forgiveness because all wrongdoings are erased, then purple lilacs would turn into pretty pink lilacs, wherein lilacs are just lilacs. Maybe even purple lilacs to autumn leaves, turn into a new season, new meaning to love. If Lu Han were purple lilacs, then Chanyeol would be white lilacs waiting to be picked. White for plain but white for clean and pure, white lilacs which mean love more than anything else because for Minseok to hold such forgiveness in his hands, it would mean that this love was permitted.

Jongdae kicks Baekhyun and pulls Minseok in closer, humming " _Lilacs_ " into his hair again.

Lilacs for forgiveness, lilacs for love. Now Minseok holds white and purple and almost pink lilacs in his hands during a month that isn't June, but promises love so warm it could be summer.

 

Lu Han tells Minseok his lips are real shiny and nice the next day at the loading zone, so Minseok pulls his scarf down and kisses Lu Han's cheek when they're hidden behind a corner. Lu Han flushes an impressive ruby, and it makes Minseok almost the happiest he's ever been.

 

o.0.o

 

Minseok was drying his hair with only his shorts on, maybe staring a bit too intently at the Wayne Gretzky poster where the hockey player's casually on his side with a pastel sweater on, blonde mullet looking incredibly smooth, when the doorbell rang. He was with Sehun; on their way to Minseok's place they got splashed by a car, so they each took their shower. His tutoring session with Sehun was almost done. The job wasn't too long or difficult -- most sessions ended with the boy spread out on the floor with all of Baekhyun's comics strewn around him. He was a good kid.

As for what Junmyeon instructed him on, Sehun was faring better than the last days of summer and early autumn. Although the expensive watch his mother bought him for his fifteenth birthday disappeared, he had less bruises. Sehun would sometimes ask to stay over for longer. He guessed he saw some reason in confiding into Minseok.

Geez, the doorbell's scarily loud.

The Korean boy rarely opened the door to people. He didn't like it. He didn't answer most phone calls either, up until recently. Still, he waddled with messy hair and unlocked the array of locks. He opened the door, but not wide enough so that the four chain locks were pulled taught; it was a narrow opening and the chains looped down, and he could just fit in the side of his face and a bit more through the crack. Minseok hid the rest of himself behind the door.

He loved those chain locks. All three residents were shorter than average and that made them lose edge over people sometimes; but boy, those four chain locks that didn't do anything for security sent out the clear message of disinterest and control. He perked up at the person fidgeting on the doorstep.

"Han?"

Lu Han already squished the tip of his foot into the crack, his pristine red Pumas on the porch's ratty welcome mat. "Heya. Kris kicked me out and Yixing’s still working. Can I come in?"

"Mm'kay."

Sehun was staring at them. Minseok could feel it.

He held a comic book to his face but his eyes peeked over the pages like some half-assed KGB agent. Once they settled inside he was finishing his hair with a bit of Lu Han's help because, because-- there isn't really a reason; Lu Han just does what he wants. Ever since That Day he touches Minseok more, making Minseok think of how a few years ago he'd be happy to settle for less when they'd be in the locker room together at school. He brushed his hair, too, and traced over Minseok's ribs and had his warm, calloused hands pressed against Minseok's bare skin, the younger boy close to asking if Hey, could you just stay like that for a while?

Instead, Lu Han commented on getting him to eat more, to which Minseok couldn't do anything else but agree. He also eased his Adidas hoodie on Minseok's small frame, and suddenly self-aware of the bizarre show they were putting on in front of Sehun, Minseok had the sense to at least hit Lu Han with a sweater paw and insult him.

"The fuck, birdie?"

"Yeah, fuck you."

Sehun's eyes went back to his comics. Minseok let out the breath he was holding.

He looked out the window while Lu Han leaned over to steal some of Sehun's comics. The skies had cleared up considerably, the sunlight now turned to almost wintery white. The trees were now bare, hanging like dark skeletons, but it wasn't exactly ugly. It also wasn't hard to spot Kyungsoo walking down the street with Chanyeol: the latter stuck out like a sore thumb with his height. They were close as if they wanted to hold hands and it made Minseok’s heart twinge.

Even from up here, Minseok could see Kyungsoo's bright smile. He couldn't deny Kyungsoo of that happiness. Heck, he even started to feel a bit jealous.

Minseok throws a comic book at Lu Han. "Take me out."

"W-what?"

"Les' go ousside."

Sehun snorted and almost howls in laughter. "Enunciation, hyung, enunciation."

Minseok throws a comic book at Sehun. It hits him on his forehead. "Your ass is staying here."

There isn't much protest when Minseok and Lu Han step outside, shivering slightly at the cold wind. His cheeks turn cold quickly and his breath dissipates around him like smoke. They wander around uselessly for a while before they find the grocery cart Baekhyun keeps in some inconspicuous alley. Lu Han kindly invites Minseok inside and they share conspiratorial grins; he's seen Minseok get pushed around in that cart several times since they've met. It's a bit of a stupid thing, but Minseok likes it.

He would lay back in the cart, most of the time; mildly concussed with his head flat on the metal, but he liked the view. His legs always sprawled out in bizarre ways and sometimes dangled over the edge. Baekhyun would always steer. It was something that developed during the ice fight recovery -- people with stitches still have people to see, places to go, and all that jazz. The cart would rattle with shaky exhales after potholes, jitter with every passing rock, and noisily exclaim its surprise at uneven asphalt. While terrifying for the first couple of times it mellowed out. Soon thereafter, Minseok would just lay there, vulnerable to each and every of Baekhyun's whims as he got pushed around the neighbourhood.

As stupid as they might have looked, often going out wearing Kyungsoo's old leather and denim jackets from his younger days, Minseok longed for those brief breaks from life in that cart.

The sky, see, from that point of reference which constantly moved forward, became a rolling picture. The best was when there was enough wind up there to get the clouds rolling in the deep grey skies. Or when periwinkle turned to candy floss and fruit punch.

And that was the thing. Objectively, the sky was the sky. High above. He couldn't even touch it, not even when he'd stretch his arm up high, high, with fingers straining to dip into what he'd expect, in his mind, to be sweetness and softness mixed with the rugged and violent nature of everything. But an outstretched arm went about as high as Baekhyun's black hair, and science class was science class. Clouds were water, and the sky was just gas.

Minsrok would like to, however, contest to that point by stating that the sky was Real. And even so, with his head rattling with the cart and his hair covering half of his face without the heart to push it away, the sky -- with and without the romanticism and the longing -- was Real. He couldn't touch it, smell it, hear it, taste it, but it was more Real than anything in the world. And with all of its expanse and little bits of it that Minseok rolled past, the sky was something human touch could never be.

Permanent.

Buildings were human, and telephone lines and poles, and satellite dishes and smoke that billowed in the wind. And human was impermanent. Cyclic and flowing through existence and nonexistence, living its brief life -- through fabrication and creation of Humanness, roll-on lip-gloss, cassette tapes, and black iron stairs, human was built and man-made. Not Real. Not ever, not never. Wherever he looked when he would dare turn his head and look to the side, the view always changed: new doors, new signs, new people, new cars, new and always changing.

Even the heavens above, he thinks when he looks at the clouds from which rays of sunlight descend, are man-made. The concept of heaven is human. And if you took it away, stripped humanity of divinity (not to say that the existence of deities isn't real, rather the whole ensemble of what is built around that existence), then what would remain?

Blue.

When he looked back up, safe within the shopping cart, he was safe within the permanent confines of the sky; Realness that was permanent and would never change.

"Where's the hill Baekhyun always drags you to? I wanna go." Lu Han interrupted rather rudely.

"'Round Carson and Eastvale. Go down Finch a bit more, and then you hit Carson. Then Eastvale, y'know, where all the abandoned houses are. Then the hill. Then, then we just..." Minseok raised an arm up and let it fall down.

"Free-fall?" Lu Han suggested.

"Mmhm."

Minseok decided to look up, head propped against the front of the cart. He caught Lu Han's eyes and gave a lazy smile. Eastvale's green street sign soon came into his vision. Lu Han grinned and leaned forward towards Minseok to hand him a hair tie. "So it doesn't get all in your face or tangled."

"Can you braid it for me?" Minseok asked. Lu Han's braids aren't the prettiest, but they feel the best when he's making them.

"Yeah, sure. Sit up."

As Lu Han combed his fingers through Minseok's long, black hair, the smaller boy's gaze took to the sky again. He hummed at the feeling of fingers in his scalp, then at his hair being tugged and played with -- made him think of Kyungsoo tying it while Minseok would sit on a stool and loudly complain that it hurt when he was a kid, and soup would bubble on the stove and drown his complaints out.

It felt Real. The memory and the present, the sky, the wind; the smell of autumn, with its leaves and faint background of the smell of winter.

Nothing could feel Human with Lu Han's fingers brushing against his cheek to tell him that he finished braiding his hair.

"Are you ready now?" Lu Han asked, voice edging on excitement. He likes to live in mild danger. "The hill's so steep. Imagine the speed we can fall with if I get us a head-start. Any last words?"

"You're so dramatic."

"Guess you rubbed off me." Lu Han laughs. He sets one foot on the base of the cart with the other on the ground, ready to push off at any given moment.

Minseok felt the cart tip. Even after years of this, he was still caught in the anticipation of the moment between stillness and the lurch. Lu Han's red Pumas scraped on the asphalt with a loud, rasping noise; followed by stillness that lasts for nanoseconds Minseok never counts but feels, until he suddenly falls backward, now remembering why he preferred to lie down rather than sit up. He barrelled into the unknown, blind to everything and lurching backwards rather terrifyingly. He thought he was going to fall out and his knuckles turned white where he was gripping the grid of the cart. Brown leaves flew up whenever the cart hit them, and Lu Han laughed; clear into the street and through their rattling.

And there it was.

The weird times when Human and Real became one.

Minseok found Lu Han during his terrifying acceleration. The buildings zoomed past him but the same face stared back at him, twisted into glee; and, and it was so clear. Like reality could have melted by him, and Lu Han remained the only thing he could say existed. It made Minseok furrow his eyebrows. It's undoubtedly rare and precious, and Minseok's dark eyes found Lu Han to be Real. Permanent within impermanence, the same way the sky is permanent until the Sun expands and engulfs the Earth. He guessed -- rather, knew -- that in his mind and in reality, Lu Han was permanent for any amount of time, for whatever day or week or month or year or minutes and seconds pouring into hours, and to death. To Death. And Lu Han would be undoubtedly here, the only clear thing in the disorder of it all, smiling while Minseok felt like throwing up.

The thought made him feel just the bit more serene when Lu Han's laughter rang loud. In permanence of the impermanence of the amount of time they had on this world, Minseok's heart left him to join that laughter.

And that was kinda cool.

Once the shopping cart wasn't on an incline anymore, they took to wandering about the street. There was a huge fire when Minseok was twelve and it took down a lot in its path. It was at night, and he remembers holding onto Kyungsoo's pyjama shirt and hiding his face in his ribs as they were on the rooftop to figure out where the bright, bright glow came from. The other homes on the hill just got shut down 'cause of some health hazard that no one really knew about.

Lu Han steered Minseok into a snug little road, the ones that are just used to access parking spots. Dead ends that no one cares for anymore, hidden from plain sight, nothing that a gang or bunch of dumb adolescents want. Must be because of the health hazard, Minseok supposes.

"Birdie." Minseok hears from above.

"Mm?"

"Did you ever like… Forgive Chanyeol?" He asks. Minseok blinks a few times before asking why. Lu Han shrugs and says "Because it's the confirmation I want. I need to know your answer."

Minseok sits up suddenly, the cart rattling with him. His lips part to say Yes, they need to say Yes; yes because it's you and yes because I also had to forgive, yes that never comes out of his mouth so he nods eagerly instead and pants a tiny yeah.

Lu Han's smile is blinding.

"Really? Really really? Birdie, birdie I'm so-- 'cause see, I just had a realization." Lu Han lets go of the handle of the cart and takes a moment to compose himself. "A very major realization." Minseok's eyebrows furrow. He may be excited at Minseok's response, but he can tell that Lu Han is being careful with his words.

"I never called you." Lu Han simply states, cracking into a huge grin.

Oh (not the dramatic _oh_ but the dumb sort of oh) his heart. His heart, the way it beats and squeezes and bleeds. How Real Lu Han can be and how Real his words are, hurting him. He looks up to the sky as if it could comfort him.

No, you didn't, Minseok wants to say. And I waited so long, Lu Han, and I waited and waited and waited and waited until the word wait started to sound weird, so I wrote it and wrote it and wrote it and wrote it and wrote it until it didn't look like a word anymore. So much that the colour mint makes me wonder lots of things, past things like time and space and how time may be space and space be time without time being real and into things like your heart, Lu-ge, and if it's red or pink or whether it beats with the two syllables of my name (and I don't tell you because it sounds selfish, see, it's embarrassingly selfish).

Instead, Minseok keeps his mouth shut and finds himself waiting again.

Lu Han sighed. "We'll have to fix that."

"What?" His heart drops to his stomach, maybe burning in the acid.

Lu Han raises his eyebrows almost teasingly and looks around the deserted street. With no hesitation at all he goes ahead and grabs Minseok's jaw, using his thumb and index to squish his cheeks in the process, and thrusts his other hand by Minseok's ear. After getting past the initial shock of his best friend's coming out as completely barmy, Minseok looks to the side to find that the first three fingers of Lu Han's hands are curled with his thumb pointed towards his ear and his little finger extended above his mouth.

With a little sharp inhale, a closing of his eyes, and a honey-sweet smile, Lu Han pretends to gather his composure and says: "Ring ring, it's for you."

"… Fuck off?" Lu Han's phone-hand presses against his face at that remark, his little finger pushed up against Minseok's pink lips. "Hannie don’t be stupid--"

"See, ain't it good that I remembered? Because you're just the type of boy to torture himself over a promise like that. So, will you pick up the phone and let me say everything I wished I could, you know, tell you That Day?"

Minseok shifts awkwardly in the cart, knowing that Lu Han's stupid phone hand must feel the heat coming from his cheeks. He suddenly wishes he put on some Kissing Potion beforehand because his lips are still dry.

"Please," Minseok ends up saying while his hand fumbles in his jacket pockets, looking for his Bubble Gum lip-gloss. It isn't there. "Please tell me."

Lu Han starts talking and his eyes and smile and whole face have gone soft, turning Minseok into softer mush. "You know how lonely I was last year?"

"Coulda imagined it."

"You know what made me lonely?"

"Y'don't have friends?"

"Nah. It was just you that bothered me. Birds in Vancouver, but no birdie. So when I kissed you in the summer, it was because I didn't see you for a year and it had been three years I wanted to do that, so I just thought 'fuck it' and did it. Also, because Yixing kissed you, go figure." He's nearing words that Minseok craves and it keeps him on his toes, stuck in a grocery cart but holding Lu Han's words and amplifying them to infinity.

"My brother likes saying I'm a weak-willed pussy, but I had a lot of time to think over the year and I'd like to say that I want to be a better person. And that starts with you." Lu Han finishes with pink dusting over his features cutely. He's ever so adoring, Baekhyun once described him. Because his heart decides where he goes and his mind's too stupid to do anything but blindly follow. He kind of shines; like the sun that pierces through the grey clouds with rays you think you can touch, wish you could touch. It's a bit overwhelming.

There's a selfish feeling that overtakes Minseok, making him crave more meaning, more feeling, more everything from Lu Han's lips. Something clearer and more explicit than wanting to kiss, or those pretty words about Minseok and being better.

Like those words of care and feather-light lips on his neck, like Lu Han's sweet voice tiptoeing closer to Minseok's completion; because Minseok waited and Minseok tried, and he wants to give Lu Han white lilacs just to show that he picked white lilacs so that Lu Han's purple ones could turn pink.

The boy in front of him seems to notice that selfishness. He does say that Minseok has an honest face. Having seen Minseok at his probably worst on their first encounter probably helped him gauge at what point he's completely devastated and put out of it. "Are you disappointed?" He asks, uncurling the fingers from his pretend phone and letting go of his jaw, only to cup his face. "Are you being a crybaby over a stolen kiss?"

"No, I’m not even crying." Minseok balls the hem of his shirt and looks away. "I just, jes' thought you would be sayin' more. Saying more." He looks down and stares at his basketball shoes. "You waited three months to say this. An’ it was my second kiss, after all."

Lu Han's face seems preoccupied with the comment, but his eyes have a strange twinkle to them. "Birdie, I said what I had to say. Said more on That Day and kissed you and held you, I feel like it's you who should be saying more."

"But Lu Han,” Minseok scrunches his face at him. “Lu Han, how can I admit somethin' like that in the world we live in?" He asks, confused at the change in pace.

Lu Han raised an eyebrow. "Admit what?"

Minseok suddenly realizes the huge mistake he's made in the sense of embarrassment.

"I-- the, you know… Th'feeling." At his answer, Lu Han raised his eyebrows playfully. His tone, Minseok belatedly remarks, was never super serious from the start. It was hard to understand what exactly Lu Han was coming to, because as much as a complete dimwit he is, Lu Han's calculating. A Machiavellian motherfucker, Kris once called him. What a cunning bastard.

Lu Han licks his lips from which a slow and small smiles forms. "Come on, tell me what feeling that is."

"It's just a feeling, Hannie." Minseok said, sinking into the cart. "What, you want more?"

Lu Han looked enchanted with the start of his answer and propped his chin with his hand, bringing Minseok to the realization that oh, he's been set up to say this, hasn't he? Because Minseok will always be the last one to fess up. He parted his lips hesitantly, scared of what's supposed to come after it. Lu Han admitted it, he thinks, but it took Lu Han three months to do so and he's even joking about it; playful when it's about two boys who touch each other like this and kiss each other and, and who carry the shadow of adoration, don't they? Either his heart's fluttering at the courage it took for Lu Han, or either he's reading this wrong.

Still, Lu Han stays there, smiling, and it just trips Minseok up to the point that the words come tumbling out.

"It's not a feeling that I wanna name, but a feeling that's nice t'feel. Feeling that I feel a lot and felt for really, really, really long. But when I do name it, I dunno if I like it anymore. Not exactly within myself, because I'm okay with the name itself; I like the way it sounds from my lips, and even from yours… Your lips, too." Words come out like they're dreamy breaths and voice quiet like he doesn't want to be heard. Lu Han's eyes shine with every syllable. "I like the way it's spelled, I like the way I write it, and even the way you do-- do write it, see.

"I like the way it builds promise and the colour it is, ‘cause it's so many colours, changin' like the sky does. But within th'whole context of it, it is the problem. Other people don't like the way it rolls off my tongue, not just 'cause of the accent, but of the word itself when it comes from me, and that they don't like anything about how it looks, is. But the thing is that it makes me happy and dumb as a feeling itself, but once I name it, and name it within this bigger context, it makes me so sad. Like a misery kind of sad. Like that." He passed his fingers on the sides of the cart and paused, tilting his head to look up at Lu Han.

He was pensive. Leaning towards Minseok and gaze looking past him, to the horizon, lost in contemplation -- maybe surprised or taken back that Minseok would actually follow along with his whims, but Lu Han should've expected his blind trust.

"It's a feeling." Lu Han eventually said. "You just have to feel it, and feel anything that comes with it. It doesn't have to be good or bad, it just has to be. Just be, only be."

Minseok raised himself up, his knees digging into the metal. It sounded like words that were meant to read and feel profound, but the meaning itself became lost. Lu Han never gave an answer that meant anything. He looked into Lu Han's brown eyes and his own traced over the boy's eyelids, the curve that leads to his eyebrows and then the soft black hair that slightly curls down his forehead; and, rather ashamedly, Minseok felt that peculiar feeling.

"But you know," Lu Han spoke again, pressing a finger around the curve of Minseok's cheek and leaning even closer so that his nose brushed against his skin as he spoke next to his ear, "What's the point of feeling if you don’t take action?"

His hand moved to settle at grabbing Minseok's jaw again and his thumb pressed at the swell of his bottom lip, and he did swear that he felt Lu Han's heartbeat. Minseok's stomach does loops when he realizes that it's him, the final thing Lu Han wants when he finishes all his calculations. Doesn't Lu Han want Minseok? Kissed him in an alley and told him to wait. Kissed him on the neck and told him to wait. Minseok wants Lu Han, too, waiting for him like it was the last thing he could do.

There is a point, Minseok found in his very short life, where anticipation absolutely kills you to the point that it's a physical reaction. He curls his fingers around a part of the cart and stares back into Lu Han's eyes once the boy pulls away; they burn so intensely that Minseok can't find it in himself to break eye contact. There are words perched on his tongue, things akin to a dare or a challenge, all to coax the nuanced undertones of what Minseok thinks (would like) Lu Han is implying.

So he whimpers pathetically instead, quite unwillingly and unwittingly, and closes his eyes like some poor virgin which isn't so far to what he is.

"Cute." Is all Lu Han says before he seals the adoration in his voice with a kiss.

Fear gives way to the bubbling madness that is the mess of his heart. A real kiss, sincere and not playful like it was in a Chinatown alley, full on the lips to mean more than what it was in the living room of a one-bedroom apartment, the type of kiss that is completely devastating, leaving his mind completely blank and totally receptive to every single feeling.

Lu Han pulls apart briefly but he's back to Minseok's mouth, his other hand roaming his body until it reaches under his arm so that he can pull Minseok up until it's easier to press their faces together and feel each other's heartbeats. His skin crawls with electricity and he flushes, he thinks, to cotton-candy pink, small noises coming out of his throat like last time which leave him embarrassed. He’s gripping the cart so hard it hurts, but he’s going to fall if he doesn’t hold onto something because he's heaven-kissed. Heaven because those soft lips of Lu Han feel like red velvet, you know, feel like the way red velvet doess on your tongue and in your memories, red velvet called red from the apple colour of Minseok's cheeks once Lu Han's lips bid good-bye, thank you, until we meet again (not for long).

He's thankful for the deserted street, because Lu Han has all the right in the world to never stop. The boarded-up houses leave no room for judgement, neither the divinities above, Minseok wants to believe, for the heavens can't complain once Lu Han holds Minseok's face like it was something damn precious and kisses deeper, tongue swiping at his lips and mouths parting and Minseok gasping and melting, past consciousness and only living where his flushed skin meets Lu Han's. With every delivered feeling he receives he tries to reciprocate with shaky hands and exhales and a rapid-fire heartbeat, feeling like eternity and a millisecond and nothing seems Real and nothing seems the way you would describe a thing as Seeming.

 

And Love.

It is love. Scary and terrible, terrifying, twisted love.

But that’s just because the world made it so.

"I do like you." Lu Han mutters by Minseok's ear before kissing him again. "You don’t have to outright say it because I know you do too."

Minseok nods, already desperate for more of Lu Han’s touch, but the nod isn't a dismissal of Lu Han's words -- because cunning bastards never lie.

His second kiss was always for Lu Han.

 

The empty street, that bitter November wind, Kyungsoo's earrings hanging from his own ears, Chinatown, and Lu Han himself are drenched in Minseok's childhood; now brought to bloom and almost to completion with that taste of mature Youth that is Lu Han's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luhans a piece of shit
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!!! i got really overwhelmed by the response for last chap which is silly but i was real glad that you guys liked this!
> 
>  
> 
> yo do yall want references? of course you do  
> https://sprinklepuffball.blogspot.ca/2010/06/tinkerbell-cosmetics.html  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/95/d1/09/95d1098ee2b116f15f99c268c75b9a5f.jpg  
> http://clickamericana.com/wp-content/uploads/maybelline-kissing-potion-1981-620x863.jpg  
> http://clickamericana.com/wp-content/uploads/Bonne-Bell-Lip-Smackers-vintage-Ad-Dr-Pepper-Good-and-Plenty-7-Up-630x854.jpg
> 
> thank you again!!
> 
> catch me on twitter at @pinkminseokfeel bc im lonely


	5. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok realizes that he's been living with rose-coloured lenses; maybe instead, he has his two feet in opposite worlds. But there's still beauty at the end of every reality, good or bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: mild violence, some racial + homophobic slurs, Lu Han.  
> Also, extra-long chapter! It's like a 2 for one deal.

 

1984, winter. Temperatures usually neared zero, bringing freezing rain and heavy snowfall. Minseok and Baekhyun learn how to tolerate unwanted romantic relationships in the household, and Kyungsoo learns how to avoid Lu Han. Yixing cries a bit when he has to store his motorbike in Kris's garage.

 

 

People are complicated. Minseok was fifteen, on his knees in the grocery cart with his hands over Baekhyun’s on the handle as he asked why, Baekkie, why was it so that some people are so mean? Baekhyun only said that they were bad seeds. In the present, his answer would be much more nuanced and grey, but they had just been refused service at a restaurant downtown – it would be hard to believe that the staff didn’t exist in the bad side of a binary. Minseok dropped back on the floor of the cart and looked upwards to see the comfortable Chinatown telephone wires and signs written in Mandarin, wondering if that was true.

Years passed and Minseok still wonders why it had to be so. There were many tiring, trying times, and he still never found an answer. It is what it is. The reason behind the question is just as much a fact as saying that Minseok is currently on Lu Han’s bed.

He likes to think that with the grey tartan comforter, he doesn’t have to think about negativity. Complicated people eventually left his mind so that his concentration can finally zone in on taking care of himself. He didn't find a towel when he came out of the shower so he just sat on the mattress in his briefs and started taking care of his ankle. Minseok gently put the clip fastener on his ankle wrap – it was just a small sprain; the problem was that he ran on it. He stretches his toes to feel the soft fabric of the comforter and looks outside, checking if it was still snowing. The world is covered by a tapestry of white and even the sky is a pale grey; the edges of the window are turning to frost and the icicles from the roof are peeking at the top, but despite the cold there's a boy inside, waiting on the promise of hot chocolate.

There's also small boxes filled with photos next to Minseok. Lu Han doesn't like it when he brings them out to look at, mostly out of embarrassment; but Lu Han's pictures are nice to look at, with the light he manages to capture and the small pauses between breaths in life. On his desk, there's a Sony Mavica, a gift from when Minseok was fifteen and Lu Han sixteen, back when his parents still pretended they could be called that way, and right next to it a Polaroid camera. Lu Han used to film a lot and take so many pictures that his pay and earnings from his gambling stint all went to fund his hobby. Minseok’s fingers were so well acquainted with glossy picture paper, thin black film and the small canisters which dispense it. It’s easy to forget familiarity over a year – it’s the next step after yearning. A pity, Minseok thought.

Lu Han had an artistic eye, but it never was an artistic perspective. He never captured for the composition, it was rather impulsive and driven by his feelings. Minseok would listen to him gush about his pictures or films on the weekends instead of helping Lu Han with his homework. For the type of someone he supposedly was, it was odd. And Lu Han knows that, it came right out of his parents' mouths.

His fingers idly dipped into the box and felt around for a stroke of luck, careful not to aggravate his scraped knuckles, blindly pulling out a picture of himself in the locker rooms. Probably in the evening after soccer practice -- he wasn't allowed on the team due to a ban on school sports but the coach was kind enough to let him hang around to watch them train, sometimes joining them. Lu Han probably sweet-talked the coach into it. He's sitting on the length of the bench with his legs drawn up, in his underwear like he is now, with a math manual open at his feet. His hair is untied and looks soft as it drapes over his shoulders and cascades down to cover his thighs while his eyes send their own type of kiss to the boy behind the camera, a shy smile on his face.

There's a feeling to it, all captured within 8.8 by 10.7 centimetres. It makes him think of the lilacs that will bloom in a few months.

He looks back at his ankle and runs his red knuckles against his inner thighs as he thinks about the events that caused it. They were at the laundromat earlier, unwrapping a sports mag they just bought until two men (those who rent in the outskirts of Chinatown because it's cheap) called Lu Han a gook as if they were in _Apocalypse Now_ since he took the good washer, and next thing he knew, it escalated dangerously until Lu Han put an end to it.

They ran away after that, hand in hand. Past alleys and past Finch street and past Kris's barbershop, into the back door to get to the apartment above it. They peeled off their winter wear and warmed their hands up each other's shirts, the fingerprints on Minseok's neck and swelling eye were kissed better before they made their way to the bedroom. Past the well-kept, glossy posters of soccer players like Maradona, past the Pele jersey proudly displayed on the off-yellow walls, past the small photographs of friends and magazine cut-outs of cats, right until Minseok was lost in Lu Han's small bedroom. And then lost in his bed, lost in the smell of detergent and Lu Han's weird cologne before he was pushed towards the bathroom to wash off the uneasiness and lukewarm coffee thrown on him.

The door to the bedroom opened and Lu Han walked in, carrying the first aid kit in his hands with two mugs of hot chocolate balanced on top. Minseok hurried to bend down and put the boxes under the bed before sitting back up to meet Lu Han's inquisitive smile. He set the mugs on the night table before crawling onto the bed next to Minseok.

The photos were quickly forgotten.

"Hands." Lu Han says. Minseok looked at him weirdly before presenting them palm down. Lu Han tutted as he took out bandages. "Now the scabs are all gone and your skin's raw again."

Three days ago, Falucci dared Minseok to take to the punching bags barehanded and he wasn't going to chicken out. Dongwoo called him stupid when he showed up with scraped knuckles to buy some milk. Lu Han started to gently wrap up his fingers, caressing his hands when he'd wince and leaving a kiss on the joints whenever he could.

(Always.)

"Mm," Minseok hummed as he stretched out his fingers when Lu Han put the bandage roll away. "S'not the end of the world."

"Oh hush, birdie, it's the end of my world." The reply was dead serious and accentuated by the pop of the lid closing. Minseok made a small noise and looked away, rubbing at the sensitive skin of his neck to take the embarrassment away. "Look at what they did to you. I'll fuck them up."

"… Is that why you pretended to pull out a gun?" He asked. He'd really done that. And they believed him, because he had his hand in his jacket, threats seething and tongue lashing out. Everyone has an idea of who's affiliated with what gang and what threats can be real. Lu Han was never good with physical fights and Minseok took care of one of the men, sending him sprawling across the floor, although at the cost of spraining his own ankle. It was hard to deal with the one that was left and Lu Han couldn't keep up, too inexperienced.

It was balanced by his scheming.

He curled his hand around his wallet, but the movement looked like he curled it around the grip of a pistol. Lu Han pulled Minseok away from the older man who let his throat go, paling in fear. God, God that feeling was so eerie. Lu Han's arm was around his waist to hold him close and his knuckles were turning white where they were gripping his ribs through his jacket; it could've hurt, but Minseok was too busy trying to breathe. He was protected by the bluff of an estranged brother of a gang member. He was protected with nothing, but that nothing was more powerful than anything in that laundromat. "Why'd you think it would work?"

Lu Han shrugged while putting ointment around Minseok's eye. He sighed and supposed that it was the best answer he'd ever get from him.

"Maybe it's good you did it. You're just good like that, Han, y'just good that way, ain't it so? Fixed the mess right up."

After wiping his hands with a tissue, Lu Han cupped Minseok's face and smiled -- God, God it made Minseok's stomach flutter under his gaze. Felt sunshine, he swears he felt something warm. Like the weight of blankets in winter, flame of a lighter someone brought at the bus stop during a freezing day, or Kyungsoo's hugs. He crawled over to stick himself to Lu Han's side and put his hands on his thigh, using them as leverage as he leaned in to bump his nose against Lu Han, laughing something between a chuckle and a giggle. Lu Han brushed the heavy weight of Minseok's hair away from his face and gently pulled him back enough so that they could look into each other's eyes.

"Birdie, what am I going to do with you?" He mumbled. It was more rhetoric than anything so Minseok kept staring. "You keep getting in trouble, and you got in real trouble because of me. Got hurt 'cause of me." He squished Minseok's cheeks and had this peculiar expression on his face. It was bent between frustration and tenderness, he decided. "What am I going to do with you if you get hurt again?"

Minseok shrugged in a rhetoric sort of way, a pout on his lips since he's not asking for anything. It made Lu Han crack into a lopsided smile.

So, Lu Han kissed him.

And kissed again.

Kissed until Minseok found himself in Lu Han's lap, toes curling into the tartan comforter, and still they were kissing. That sounds stupid, but it was what it was. Baekhyun once called Minseok a beautiful little fool when Minseok let some tears slip when they were listening to a trot song he can't remember, said he'd giggle and fawn over the littlest things and never be able to get over some dumb smooch. Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn't, but Minseok likes the heat of Lu Han's skin and being taught how to kiss. He likes being able to forget the world when they're like this.

"I promise I--" Lu Han's hands drifted to his thighs and his breath stuttered, stopping mid-sentence with his stomach lurching and bile at his throat. He twitches and Lu Han immediately pulls his hands off, worry etched on his face. Sometimes Minseok has to take a moment to suppress the mounting guilt in his gut, breathe in deeply and look at himself to realize that he isn't in a hospital gown and that Lu Han's adoring smile is everything that's the opposite of evil. His mind would eventually crawl towards Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, then to Lu Han, and allow itself to accept this love new to him. Kissing's nice, it's one of his favourite things now, but the hint of something _more_ is frightening.

It's all in the newspapers and the radio.

He breathes in, out, and reaches for Lu Han's hands again. They stare at each other for a moment and it's the last anchor Minseok needs to stay in this prettier, warmer reality. "I'll be careful." He murmurs. "Hannie, I'll be careful-er. For you."

Rosy lips smile softly to match the words that come out of them. "For everyone. No one wants you hurt."

"I'll be real careful."

"Pinkie promise." Lu Han slipped out from his hold and held his hand out. Minseok complied and linked their pinkies together before sealing the promise with a press of their thumbs. "Yeah, you can't back away from that, okay?"

"M'kay."

Lu Han turned and grabbed a mug of hot chocolate from the bedside and gave it to the boy on his lap before taking one for himself.

"Lu-ge?"

"What?"

Minseok took a sip and looked at the Mavica lying on the bookcase next to the bed. "Y'should take pictures again. Or even start paintin' again, you liked it so much in school. If you need help, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Minseok," He looked up at the use of the plain rendering of his name. "I said I'd stop."

"But Hannie, who cares about somethin' mean your parents said about this? They shouldn't even, even be called that. 'Cause they should care about your happiness, and this was part of it." Minseok shifts in Lu Han's lap so that more of himself meets his skin and gently cups Lu Han's cheek with his free hand.

"If I have to stay outta trouble, you have to be happy, too. And, and then you can be free. We'll set you free. With all that hope in your big eyes, Lu-ge, we're gonna take it out and spin it into something right grand, right ace, somethin' real choice." He kisses Lu Han to seal his words, hoping to give him back some of the Warmth Lu Han gives him so often. After a heavy pause, two hands settle themselves on his hips; a friendly, welcome sort of weight. His face is downcast, a type of face reserved for reflection that could even fit perfectly on that of a hard-boiled detective in an undoubtedly noir film, but his body speaks with sentimentality from the squeeze of his hips and fingers running up his sides like they thought flesh and bone was going to turn into dust.

"… Then make me." Lu Han said after some heavy hesitation.

"What?"

"Tell me what to take a picture of, and if I like it, we'll see." Lu Han says, lost mirth from two years ago resurfacing and giving him an air of Youth. Minseok stares dumbly as Lu Han reaches over to find his Polaroid and look around the room with it.

"Something you like." He plainly instructs.

The camera makes one last sweep of the room before it settles in front of Minseok's face. Soon he hears the click and whirr of the camera he didn't realize he missed.

Lu Han takes the picture out and waves it until the image forms. He turns it in his hands a few times before his lips bloom into an impressive smile, and he tucks it into the tissue box so that it stands up. "Maybe you're right, birdie."

"You're so cheesy."

"Mm, I guess. But then that'd make you sickly sweet and inherently impossible." Lu Han says before taking his hot chocolate back into his hands, finally taking a few sips.

"Hannie."

"What?"

"… I like you."

Lu Han grimaced and pinched Minseok's hip. "I know, birdbrain."

When Minseok thinks back on it, the date might've been the 12th, the 20th, the 16th, the 2nd, or it might've even been in January -- days like these blended together, their feelings never changed, and those were always their favourite days.

But the promise was half-kept.

 

o.0.o

 

Minseok and Jongdae spent ages rifling through the tiny apartment to find one of Lee Soo Man’s albums to listen to _Happiness_. It felt like one big joke after eight months – it could’ve been a collective fever dream, and it would’ve remained one had Kyungsoo not found it underneath the floorboards (it was probably Baekhyun’s doing). He was listening to the album for the fifth time this week while Sehun was getting screwed over by a simple algebra mistake he made in the first step of his factoring. That made Minseok feel nostalgic. December afternoon, futon laid out next to the dining table Sehun was working on, resting after his shift that started early in the morning; it was that type of day.

"Hyung." Minseok guessed that Sehun finally figured out that he multiplied instead of adding and promptly looked up. "I need to tell you something. It's a secret. I'm only telling you, okay? Just you. And you better not tell anyone."

Sehun's never done this before, nor has his voice ever neared so much nervosity.

He sat up and looked up, eyes following Sehun's gangly legs until he found his sharp face. "What?"

"I'm serious, you can't tell anyone. And you don't have the right to ask questions. I'm only telling you this because it's you, and--"

"Cut th'crap." Sehun sucked in his bottom lip and nervously looked around before leaning down to meet Minseok halfway.

"Promise you won't do anything, I just-- that guilt, you know? I have to tell someone before it kills me, hyung, and you're the only one I have." Sehun splutters. It takes a few seconds and a reassuring hand hold for Sehun to finally spill it.

"I'm… running away from debt collectors." Sehun said. He stays frozen, searching for some comfort in Minseok. "Borrowed to gamble back in April. Don't tell hyung."

Minseok blinks, taken back that Sehun decided to tell him the source of his problems. It sounds quite simple at the surface -- it's not uncommon where they live, but the scale of it must be huge for Sehun to be running away since probably May. Ninety-eight dollars, Sehun says, exactly ninety-eight he borrowed; even when Minseok's eyes were as big as saucers, Sehun continued and said he owed one-hundred-seventy-six. He explained a few details with a glimmer of tears, but the end to the conversation was abrupt and left Minseok in shock.

It all makes sense now. The late-night, early-morning escapades and bruises in summer because of failed payments, the sudden stop in beating that coincided with Joonmyun giving Sehun a bigger allowance (he's _that_ type of brother), and even the disappeared watch, no doubt pawned off. What must've kept Sehun from continuing to gamble was Minseok spending his evenings with him because teens are stupid like that.

Sehun immediately goes back to his homework and never mentions it again, probably thinking that it's all water under the bridge.

Lu Han is the first -- and only -- one to hear the words from his own mouth. Minseok was squatting in the loading zone with two scarves wrapped around his face and ears, with his tuque fitting snugly around his head while he waited for Lu Han to wave off a truck. It was the evening of December 17 (it was that memorable of a day), around eight p.m when the sun's already set and colder temperatures settle in. Lu Han hopped off the concrete platform that leads to the warehouse and walked over to Minseok, his boots crunching in the snow.

"Birdie, you look so cold; why haven't you gone to the south yet?" Lu Han said before taking one scarf from Minseok, the red one, and wrapped it around himself. Minseok replied some half-assed response before he pulled Lu Han across the street into the bus stop and took one of Kyungsoo's lighters out to warm their hands. The wind died down when Minseok tells him about Sehun, letting the words sink in.

Lu Han's eyebrows shot up at the news and he makes a low whistle. One year ago, he said, no one was dumb enough to borrow money from the admins of gambling dens. That's just trouble. "Where is it?" He asks, running through a couple of places he knows.

"Dunno, but apparently, Vince from soccer partly runs it."

"Vince from soccer? The guy who looks like a criminal? Mom runs the Hungarian grocery store on the ground floor of the Soviet Bloc?"

"Yeah, the other striker on the team." Minseok adds. Lu Han ponders for a while before replying that he might know the joint -- a place by the basketball courts on Eastwood boulevard is gaining popularity, rivaling the basement of the Mah-jong parlor.

The thing is, if Lu Han knows where it is, there isn’t anything stopping him from intervening. Sehun's will would go against his course of action since Minseok wasn't supposed to be a squealer, but trouble like that isn’t always manageable at sixteen. He didn’t forget his promise to Junmyeon either. Minseok won’t back down on his word.

Minseok shifts from foot to foot and glances around. "Would I be stupid if I went there?"

"Totally." The flame moves with the wind and plays with the shadows on Lu Han's face. They bend around his curled lips and excitement is apparent in his eyes. "Vince doesn't like me since like, always, and you’re supposed to be my ‘best friend’. Vince always had a weird face when he looked at you. Vince swindles kids and beats them up with no remorse when they can’t spit out a dime.”

"So, I’d be half stupid." The corners of his mouth twitch and he finds himself grinning like mad.

"Well I’m not leaving you alone, so that makes two half stupids that make one, big stupid."

"So, what do we do?"

"Go _full_ stupid; take my hand birdie, let me take you there." Lu Han's hand reached out, tantalizing; there was adrenaline dripping from his fingertips and it promised something free. Or maybe they were just pumped to break into a gambling den and fight Vince for Sehun's honour, he's not sure. He took his hand, and Lu Han pulled until Minseok found himself in the small space between two houses behind the basketball courts of Eastwood boulevard. It's lined with empty beer bottles, cans, and wrappers -- from above, a window uses a trash bag as curtains.

Suspicious.

Minseok took charge and warmed his hands before gripping onto the gutter and keeping his feet on old bricks, hoisting himself up. He made it halfway up with the help of the gutter easily, but he ran into a small problem: ice. It covered large parts of the gutter, as well as some of the bricks under it. The chimney had some ice but looked less treacherous. Halfway through he tried to reach the chimney but met ice where his hands rested his weight, immediately slipping and losing hold.

" _Fuck_ \--" Minseok fell and was caught by Lu Han, both falling harshly on the ground. The burger wrappers crinkled under them.

"Amateur," Lu Han chided after groaning in pain. He rolled Minseok off him, brushing his long bangs from his face. "A true professional doesn't slip on ice."

"Like you're a fucking pro at breaking and entering."

"Shut up, I'm leagues better than you. If you haven’t realized yet, we’re both problem children. Watch and learn, birdie. If I fall, the wall can suck my dick." The smirk on his lips is partly infuriating, partly enchanting, and Minseok is left sitting cross-legged wihle he watches Lu Han feel around the side of the chimney. Many things seem to be able to suck Lu Han's dick, but it's unlikely that they want to. "Gutter's completely iced." He comments, as if Minseok didn't slip and fall on his ass.

He hoists himself up, and Lu Han's hands somehow grip onto the bricks like it was nothing. Minseok always uses grids, pipes, or gutters to scale walls, but Lu Han's keeping himself steady with the seams of the wall. He starts climbing the chimney and makes it to the window three stories above in a few minutes. At the end, he's sitting on the border circling the chimney like it was nothing, waiting for Minseok. With a huff, he dusts the snow from his slightly wet pants and starts to follow Lu Han's steps, albeit clumsily. It’s a massive relief to finally rest on the border.

Lu Han fumbles with the window and Minseok takes over, rolling his eyes. After some serious wiggling action, Minseok got the latch free and grinned. The window opened sideways and Lu Han hesitated before the garbage bag.

"Do we just go in?" Lu Han asks, eyebrows knitted. Minseok rolls his eyes again.

They fell into the room. It smelled like cigarettes and beer-covered floors. The room sounded like a cheerful sort of gathering until the sound of people shifting in their seats to look at the pair dominated over everything.

He stood up and fixed his hair with pink ears, eyes looking around for Vince. Lu Han cleared his throat and straightened his coat. Luckily, Minseok didn’t have to look far.

A baritone voice makes its way to them. "Oh. How did you get up here, Min?"  Vince casually breaks the silence, not at all concerned that some scrawny kid made his way into his gambling den. "Oh, there is Lu Han too." He said with ill-hidden disdain.

Vince sat up from his chair and motioned his friends to stop looking like they were going to break in their faces. The young man was at Minseok's side in seconds, propping his arm on his shoulder and completely ignoring Lu Han. He barely changed; two years didn't do much work on him. "I haven't seen you in ages, I missed having you look at us practice from the sidelines. But why are you breaking and entering?"

Minseok shrugged. Someone stifled a cough in the room. "I need to talk to you."

"Then talk right here." Vince smiled, albeit sleazily. Minseok tenses up and reminds himself that it's not about him, it's about Sehun. Lu Han mumbles something hostile, but this is a diplomatic affair. Minseok pretends they're alone and twists the insides of his coat pockets.

"I’m here to arrange things for Sehun. The sixteen-year-old Korean kid. His debt, y’know? He paid what he owed you back." His voice remains steady and he keeps looking straight into those blue eyes. Vince raises his eyebrows mockingly.

There's guffaws running through the audience when Vince asks, "The chink?"

"He's-- he's not even _Chinese_ , I-- why I always gotta say that, seriously." Minseok rolls his eyes and bites his tongue to keep civil. "I'm here to cut a deal."

" _Think rationally_ ," Lu Han whispers beside him, as if Minseok was an airhead. _"Don't fuck up._ " Minseok looks at him for the first time since they entered and realizes that Lu Han's got a firm grip on his arm to fight off Vince, who's still perched on Minseok's shoulder.

Vince clicks his tongue. "We should talk in private for that. Follow me to the office," Minseok raises his eyebrows. An office is quite professional for such a venture. "Alone."

Lu Han snorts loudly and tugs Minseok back, setting Vince off balance. "What, you planning on molesting him, Vince? Stealing glances in the locker rooms wasn't enough?" He says. Minseok thought he was going to explode. Some of the spectators started whispering to each other at the accusation, witnessing the tension mounting.

"Speak for yourself. Why are you acting so high and mighty, Lu Han? Being star striker wasn't enough for you? Wait a few weeks until your brother strikes you down for a change, I heard they need a scapegoat ever since the Italians have been squealin' about drug deals with the Chinese."

Lu Han's face twists. " _My_ brother? Jesus Christ, says the guy whose father has been arrested for ties with the motherfucking _Italian_ mafia. Ain't he starting to become a whistleblower? You watch out for your own back, asshole."

Vince’s confidence slips off his face and he stares at Lu Han in disbelief for a few seconds, all colour absolutely drained from his face. Lu Han works with all sorts of people, knows all sorts of things; some dark, some dirty. Murmurs course through the room, causing Vince’s blankness to turn to anger, to grudgingly turn to composure. He motions for the two of them to follow him into the hallway before the audience gets to know too much--

"Not you," Vince tells Lu Han when he guides Minseok into what was a bedroom.

His hand is on Minseok's back and the skin underneath it itches. He doesn't do anything, though, only peers inside the office. There's a desk with a few papers and beer cans with a swivel chair, the room otherwise empty if you didn't count the Playboy posters. "Stay here."

I'll be fine, Minseok tells Lu Han, I'll be just peachy; it’s no big deal.

Minseok gulps nonetheless when the door closes shut behind them.

The first thing Vince does is throw shit from the desk on the ground. The room crashes around them and Minseok thinks that this the third scariest situation he's ever been in, especially with a locked door.

"That motherfucker, I swear to god." Vince kicks the desk and slams himself on it after, burying his face into his hands and sighing. "Okay, okay, okay-- Minseok, right." He calms down visibly and even goes through the trouble of giving Minseok a small smile. To him, Minseok was just the kid that watched the soccer team practice.

"You came with Han?"

"Yeah."

"For Sehun?"

"Yeah."

"Why Sehun?"

"He's a good kid."

"Did Lu Han want to come?"

"I was going to go alone."

"So, this is _your_ demand?"

"Yeah," Minseok narrowed his eyes after the lightning round of questions. He watched Vince sit on the swivel chair and look around for a piece of paper. "You willing to do somethin'?"

"Yeah, why not. I’m fucking bored with this whole shindig, it got bigger than I thought it would -- and hunting down kids for money gets old after a while. The profits were pretty okay, but now I’m supposed to share with the other admins. I fucking hate them. It’s my money." Vince manages to pass off nonchalance despite his swears and obvious hatred for his now ex-friends. While watching Vince scrawling something on the paper, Minseok can’t help but be a little bit amazed despite his clammy hands. It feels disturbingly easy. With a flair equivalent to a bassoon player handed an instrument that clearly is not a bassoon, Vince signs the paper and motions Minseok to sign it too. "Here, contract: _I, Vince Papp, declare Sehun Oh free of debt_. Happy?"

"That’s real nice of you." Minseok stuffs the finished contract in his pockets and forces a courteous smile. "See you around?” He didn’t mean for his voice to raise at the end, but he still makes his way to the door without looking back.

Vince grabs his wrist.

He's forced to stop midway. He tugs his own wrist back so he can keep walking but Vince grips him harder, harsher, and butterscotch turns purple.

"You going back to Han?"

"Y-yeah." Minseok blinks rapidly and clears his throat. "Let me go."

Vince stands up obeys in favour of searching his back pocket. The look in his eyes forces Minseok to still, breath caught in his throat. Vince takes a cigarette out and lights it before rifling through his drawers. A pair of scissors comes out, not those sissy ones for kids -- they're almost like garden shears. He gulps. Vince takes a drag of his cig before blowing the smoke into Minseok's face, and he hands him the scissors blade first. They're cold in his hands. Minseok looks up, his hands already leaving sweat prints on the metal as he forces himself to look calm.

"Cut." Vince instructs as he sits back on the desk. There's an ugly smile on his lips when he beckons Minseok to come closer.

Were it a normal situation, Minseok would never. Pride would never let him. But Vince fishes the contract out of his pockets and his feet know only how to follow.

"Cut what?" Minseok holds the scissors properly and waits in front of Vince, the tension in the room close to breaking him. There was excitement before -- they were going to deliver Sehun from his shackles and the world would be set back to normal. But Vince's eyes say power trip, Vince's eyes say danger that Minseok can’t fight. Vince's cold fingers wrapping around his neck say _possession_ , say power struggle -- not with Minseok, but with Lu Han. They crawl up his scalp and then tug on his braid so that Minseok understands.

For Sehun, he tells himself, for Sehun. This long hair that's never been short since birth, long hair because when he was in the group home in Chinatown managed by two Cantonese ladies with a penchant for historical movies, Minseok thought the long-haired generals were cool. Long hair for heroes.

He must seal the deal.

His hands shake but his eyes will themselves to keep eye contact because Minseok refuses to let himself be degraded to such an extent. One, he’s shaking too much to be precise. Two, he gets through the first section of his braid. Three, saws through the middle. Four, his braid is hanging by a few hairs. Following five, the braid falls loose into his left hand like a dismembered limb. It's surreal to see it pass to Vince's hands, sickening as he runs his fingers from the elastic band down so that his hair unravels; his skin crawls as if he's the one being touched. "I'll take you out to see Lu Han," Vince laughs, pleased with himself. The contract is tucked into the back pocket of Minseok's pants and Vince pats his butt. It takes all his control to comply. "He'll be pleased to see his Min-fag."

"Wait."

"What?"

Minseok's just a tool, but damn him if he lets Vince get away with it.

"Take back what you said about Lu Han." His voice is steady with the edge of a growl. "You got your trophy, so take back what y’said."

"Why the fuck should I?" Vince's grip on Minseok's braid turns his knuckles white and he throws it on the desk. He takes another drag and blows the smoke out from his nose.

"'Cause I'll fuck you up, fuck you _right_ up, that's why." Minseok says, hoping that his threat sounds believable. It’s hard to hear himself with the way blood pounds in his ears.

"How's a twink gonna fuck me up? I'll kill you for touching me, okay? And God knows what I'll do to your body, I might just hang it in front of your boyfriend's house--" Minseok rifles a hard punch up his nose before he can get another word in and it looks so surreal as blood pisses out, but he can't even hear Vince's cry of pain because his own heart is screaming with every beat.

Vince is so intense about this, and although superfluous it’s scary because it can turn real.

"I said to take it back, take back what y'said about H--"

The lights in the room are spinning sideways as his head barrels into the desk. Vince is close to pulling out his hair with one hand that pins him down on the wood, the other one pinning his arms to his back and Minseok cries out, struggling to get out of the iron hold holding him down. He can’t see anything like this. His heartbeat says danger, his mind says game over, and his ears register some threat breathed out next to them that makes him want to vomit. Vince pulls on his hair to throw his head back, only to slam it back on the desk, makes it go up and down in painful repetitions until his ears are ringing and the lights are spinning again.

The doorknob rattles. His head pounds louder.

The shocks of pain go from his toes up and send him drifting out of consciousness. His vision is spotting and he feels like the sound of a record being scratched. A few seconds hang into space, that absolute stillness. He focuses on the desk lamp and sees Kyungsoo in the light. Wishes he could be back home. Eternity leaves him missing the man while tears burn into his eyes.

Between two breaths, Vince pulls his cigarette from his mouth and crushes it into Minseok's temple, burning, sizzling, melting, pushing into him until all that's left is a scream that blisters his lungs. It's pressed against him for an agonizing six seconds until Vince decides it's enough. A choked sob escapes him.

"Fuck him," Vince throws Minseok off the desk, leaving him crumbling to the floor, and mumbles a few more insults directed towards Lu Han as he wipes the blood from his nose. Minseok's mind is reeling, the sharp shock of pain slowly giving way to a numb feeling. Fear builds up and makes his limbs quake until it gives way to adrenaline -- restlessness, anger, and in a gamble, he decides that there's just enough time to launch himself back up and plant a decent roundhouse kick Baekhyun showed him, and then bolt for the locked door.

Blindly guided by his shaky legs, hyperventilation, and quickly beating heart, Minseok sends Vince sprawling on the carpet in a matter of three seconds.

His hands shook as he fumbled to unlock the door, finally sprinting outside with Lu Han yelling after him as he followed. Minseok almost fell down the stairs when his legs turned into jelly, caught by Lu Han and practically carried out of the door. He kept on frantically looking back to see if they were being followed, only to see no one.

They stopped running when they reached the basketball courts, the floor covered by an untouched sheet of snow. Minseok collapsed on his side and groaned when the cold snow made contact with the hole in his temple.

"Birdie, oh my god-- I heard you scream but the door was locked, and then you burst out. Your head, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, show me your head! And where the fuck did your hair go!?" Lu Han maneuvers a listless Minseok around and gasps at his burn. The fretting goes on for a while, his dumb mouth on a constant string of worries. "Does it hurt?"

"Nngh--"

"Minseok, talk to me, hey, please talk to me." He takes a handful of snow and presses it to Minseok's temple once his head is on his lap, the situation strangely familiar. "I'll die if you don't."

It takes a few minutes for Minseok to stop shaking.

"I hate you," Minseok gurgles through a sting of pain. "Hate you so much."

"I know, I know." Lu Han's thumbs are rubbing his cheekbones to hear Minseok's small sigh, hands moving to pass through his newly short hair to hear Minseok whimper some sort of affection. "Mm, you're crying." He whispers. His tears are wiped away and Minseok looks up to see Lu Han staring at him, illuminated by the night sky and a thousand stars. This isn't crying, Minseok tries to say, they're just tears because it hurts.

(But he is crying, he is)

"Hate you." Minseok repeats. "Hannie, Hannie I feel like, like I'm fifteen all over and bleedin' in the fucking skating rink again. Hate you for doing that t'me. Hate myself."

Lu Han's tone is cajoling again, like he's some kid who needs comfort. It doesn't bother Minseok, strangely. "Hey, no mean words. You're just too good for us, birdie; that heart of yours is gonna leave you in pieces one day. So hate me, 'cause I can't protect you from yourself, you big crybaby." He says, with the honest type of sweet. Snow starts to fall as he keeps rambling those honeyed words. His fingers on his forehead feel like satin, or even phoenix's tears: that they mend every breaking bit of Minseok with a simple touch, a tenderness in them that makes it so special. Minseok feels more tears slip from his eyes and he chokes out a sob.

With a new handful of snow by his temple, Minseok keeps his eyes trained on Lu Han. That light surrounding him, bright aureole that speaks warmth makes him forget that blood's running down the side of his head and that there's a hole drilled into his temple. Beautiful things. Things that shouldn't exist where they live.

Where they live, darker things exist; the kind that drives Minseok crying into Lu Han's lap because his body doesn't know what to do with all this fear -- greater than gunshots on Somerset and equal to skating rinks. He would hate himself for crying like this three years ago, but he's let himself become soft.

"Did you get hurt anywhere else?" Lu Han asks above him. He shakes his head; the burn and the blood trickling down the side of his head have already been assessed. "What if you have a concussion? You feel like uh, vomiting or something?"

He does want to vomit, but not from getting his head slammed on a desk. It feels awful to be used like this, just to infuriate Lu Han over some petty cockfight.

"Hate you." Minseok mumbles again without making much sense, because his confused mind swells with love when he looks up at Lu Han.

"Crybaby."

" _Stooooooop_ ," He rolls on his side to bury his face in Lu Han's stomach. "S'not true."

"Crybaby or not, we're going to the clinic tomorrow to check that burn out. Unless Kyungsoo kills you first."

"M'gonna die." Minseok whines into Lu Han's jacket. His head gets a reassuring pat feels more like petting 'cause Lu Han's just fixated on cats, it's weird but Minseok's not gonna say anything. It’s weirder that Minseok relaxes into the touch and lets his tears dry on his cheeks.

"I know. Let's bury you in the backyard or something, I'll give you flowers every day. Lilacs and pink peonies you like so much."

Lu Han's smile means a billion niceties.

Minseok lives in two worlds. One's ugly and one's pretty, dripping with words like love; he tells himself that the more he gives himself to people like him, those hardworking and beautiful people, the more he'll part from the ugly and the gritty.

 

Kyungsoo doesn't kill Minseok, surprisingly. Instead, he promises to let Minseok sleep with him for a week as if he was still an eleven-year old with nightmares -- but Minseok still accepts, curls up to Kyungsoo's side that night and breathes in the comforting scent of fabric softener. Baekhyun almost kills him. He doesn't want to get into the details. But he does pay him a haircut at Kris's place: now his black hair reached mid-ear, still on the long side for short hair. Kyungsoo (and Lu Han) can still run his fingers through it and ruffle it up to make a bird's nest. The doctor at the clinic took good care of his burn, now it's just a case of preventing infection.

On the nineteenth, Minseok and Lu Han visit Sehun to give him the good news. Junmyeon finished his exams and served them barley tea as he finished making supper, which was equivalent to destroying the kitchen. Sehun doesn't seem to particularly care, he's just sipping away at his tea.

Subtly, when the three others are engaged in a lively discussion, Minseok takes the contract out of his pockets and slides it towards Sehun. It looks like nothing, only a small wrinkled piece of paper, but the shock in Sehun's face as he reads it says it all. There's wonder in his eyes and tears that are being blinked away because that's not manly, and at that age masculinity's just everything. Sehun looks away when Junmyeon reads it, but there isn't anger in the elder brother's hand when he slaps Sehun's head. He disappears in his bedroom to either cry, have a consolation smoke by the window, or both.

When he returns, Junmyeon hugs him for ten whole minutes. His sweater's warm, especially in the crook of his arms where Minseok's head is squished into. They look like a painting of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus to her bosom. Sometimes his hands brush his hair behind his ears and fret over the short ends, and sometimes they beckon Minseok to look up so that Junmyeon can smile with his lips and eyes. Happy fulfillment. It's so weird to see his cynicism suddenly wash away, and Minseok starts to realize that almost all of Junmyeon's world is his baby brother.

Junmyeon lets him go to finish making supper, letting Sehun scoot his chair next to Minseok to ask: "You got anyone to spend the holidays with?"

Not really, as it has been for the last couple of years. Kyungsoo and Baekhyun have their once-a-year visit to see their mother who doesn't especially like Minseok; Lu Han's practically adopted into Kris's family as well as Yixing's; Jongdae has his own huge fam jam going on, and any other friend is booked. His last resort was Mark or Sohee, but that plan's obviously gone kaput. He shakes his head and takes a long, sad sip of his drink to look pitiful.

"Uh, Minseok-hyung, do you wanna, I dunno, spend it with me-- us-- I mean, yeah, us?" There's pink in Sehun's cheeks and he looks bashful when he makes his proposal, so much that Minseok wants to say no to make him squirm.

The days pass by slowly. Minseok gets acquainted with the mother of the household who tries to spoil him rotten – he’s too modest to accept most of her generosity, but she insists that she has a debt to repay. It twists his heart, because Sehun’s mother loved him that much and he still couldn’t ask for help. She's what the kids at the group homes would call a real mother. That aside, Sehun's actually excited for Christmas and Junmyeon smiles a whole lot more. Minseok spends his nights on the phone and hides in the closet to whisper some affections to Lu Han. Christmas felt so nice, especially with the tinsel that decorated the house. He never had tinsel.

Weather forecasts predicted rain on the new year’s and temperatures averaging zero, but as they find out on the 31st, there would be snowfall – unlike their very green Christmas. Junmyeon made an unfunny joke about it when he bid them goodnight. For the few days Minseok has been here, he still isn't used to seeing the young man so jovial. Work usually tires him, school too, those burdens of trying to get out of their situation; Jongdae even used to make creaking sounds whenever he got up. Sehun seems livelier, too, but that might just be since he's on holidays and no math.

He also sleeps like a baby, Minseok discovers. The apartment only has two bedrooms and Junmyeon decided to give up his spot on the bed with Sehun for Minseok. On a night like this he shouldn't be sleeping, especially when his head is swimming in thoughts. Things like why's and how's and what if's, innumerable and infinite.

"Sehun." Minseok breathes out in the night. He's trying to be real quiet but his whispers don't carry over to Sehun even if he's right next to him in the bed. "Why'd you do it?"

" _Mmmdo whaaat?_ " The boy next to him shuffles around so that his head isn't buried into the pillows anymore. Minseok also hoped that he wasn't sleeping because they promised to stay awake to say hello to a new year.

"Everything."

Sehun opens his eyes to look at Minseok blearily. They kept the curtains open for the gentle snowfall, so they could both see each other in the dark. He pulls the covers down so he could talk, slightly more alert. His voice is groggy and scratchy but he's not slurring his words anymore. "Everyone does it. Could be somethin' else like, dunno, some guys tried to buy roosters for cockfights in the basement of the Vietnamese grocery store, could've been anything. I just got unlucky, hyung."

"Some kids who don't. Good kids. I told you about them. Hey, hey Sehun, y’should hope to get classes with a Korean kid named Kai an’ a Chinese kid named Zitao this semester – it’ll work out." Snowflakes are passing in the orange window-shaped light on the bedsheets and past Sehun's cheeks. He looks so young, Minseok thinks, until he realizes that he _is_ young. Sometimes you just forget that about people. They act like grown-ups too much.

"Minseok-hyung, it doesn't work that way." Sehun snorts as he starts to turn his back towards Minseok. In retaliation, Minseok rolls over to his side and hooks his leg over Sehun's torso.

"Mm, yeah it does. How'd y'think I got all my classes with Baekhyun, Jongdae, or both? Bowed my head down an' prayed."

"You light up any candles for that?"

"No, candles are for important things."

It goes quiet after that, their breaths filling the room. Minseok trades his leg for petting Sehun's hair and he finds himself feeling peaceful.

"Sehun."

"Hyung?"

"Why didn't you tell anyone you had all this, these troubles and shit?" He tucks strands of hair behind Sehun's right ear and thinks of Junmyeon sleeping on the couch.

"It's complicated. Everyone's busy, this is easier."

"But they're busy for you."

"Hyung, you just don't get it."

Sehun rolls away from Minseok again. "No, I know. Y'didn't want anyone to worry, but that's no good either. I tell Kyungsoo-hyung everythin' like that, or let him find out in the next couple days-- my hair, th'burn; all that, he has to know, or else it'll hurt him to find out later."

He shuffles around to press his face into Sehun's back to get a response. There's just a sigh, and with young wisdom, says, "Your world is so simple, hyung, it must be so nice."

Between Sehun's shoulder blades, Minseok stop to wonder if it's true. There's times when Minseok's squished against Baekhyun's on their futon, music long lost as their words overtake the room -- or music only, because Minseok's too caught up in his thoughts. Baekhyun then presses his hand against his forehead at those times and says something like "You're overheating, pumpkin. Heya, don't hurt yourself, slow down a bit."

"That's unfair." He ends up saying. It's enough to have Sehun roll back towards him. His eyes are trying to close for sleep, but he keeps his attention on a wide-eyed Minseok.

"Minseok-hyung, why do you care so much?" Sehun mumbles. Minseok looks at him for a bit and hums as he searches for an answer.

"Junmyeon-hyung said he wanted you back, so I did what I could t'bring you back. 'Cause you know, Sehun, y'just remind me of someone." He says. An important someone to Minseok. "Someone wayward like you."

"… Are they doing okay now?" The question makes Minseok smile, just everything about how genuine it is.

"Yeah."

It's not about saving people. Salvation can only exist in the thin pages of the hymn books and bibles Jongdae's so well acquainted with, being salvation in its proper name: the unattainable kind, you know? You have to wait 'till drop dead for it, no matter how merciful or kind it is. Or salvation felt only in the depths of squalor, pieces of mercy found at your worst times, Minseok can't tell -- can only know that in this bed there is no way to save either of them from that ugly world. Not even kind boys in your classes. It's not about a one-way ticket out of this place.

For all of them here, it's about being okay; don't settle for more or less, just be okay. With wide eyes on New Year’s Eve to take the world in, with the blinds open to drink in the night, sleepy because even being okay's hard work.

 

1985, just plain 1985 because it doesn’t have a flavour, a smell, or a colour yet. Only Junmyeon had his clock in his hands, splitting into a wide grin when he bid ’84 and its miseries behind.

 

Minseok falls asleep to the image of that wayward teen spinning him around in the locker rooms, smile all tender, all adoring, breathing behind his eyelids like he was eternity.

 

o.0.o

 

Kyungsoo’s cigarette smoke was thick in the apartment, a maze of fog that hung in the air. He lounged on the couch in his white flannel shirt and pyjama pants, flicking back between channels two and nine. From what Minseok could hear, the baseball game on two was dragging onto the tenth inning, and the soap opera on nine had long, regular commercial breaks. When he was bored, Kyungsoo would bring the cigarette to his lips and one-two, breathe in, three-four, contemplate the television screen, and five-six-seven, breathe out. He was on his second of the night, the first one laying in the ashtray Minseok got him for his twenty-fifth birthday. Minseok hopes that Kyungsoo spills some of his drink on his shirt so that Minseok can wash it and wear it, it's so soft. From the window, the reflection of the lights from the T.V are bright and illuminate Kyungsoo's own reflection, the orange lights of the apartment bright enough to make the window forget about the dark night outside.

It's just one of those wintery Tuesday nights. They're always like that, infallible in their execution. There was thick snowfall on Saturday and freezing rain the day after, terrible weather. Baekhyun had to catch Minseok from slipping down the stairs and splitting his skull open at least twenty times in one shot. You feel cold on those winter nights, it's unnatural and unnerving; sweaters feel too heavy and they don’t even stop the cold from worming through to bite at your skin; thick pants are equally uncomfortable, and the building's landlord is the one who decides which temperature the apartments will be set at.

Big rooms feel too cold. even this small apartment feels too cold. That's why Minseok and Baekhyun are in here, where the cigarette smoke is thin and barely noticeable. They tucked in their futon and pooled in blankets and pillows in the bathtub, closing the pink shower curtain to close themselves off. You escape winter like this, in your fake version of Florida and all that. That yellow blanket is the sand, the beaches, with blue waves lapping at your legs and wrapping them in soft cotton. Green and orange pillows are the canopy of orange and tangerine groves that extend as far as your eye can see -- and the white blanket nestled between the sleepy bodies of two teens isn't snow or ice, it's the white daisies and wildflowers that peek out from grass. It's not hating winter, it's being tired of it. Because the days are grey-white and the cold tries to shut your eyelids as it takes over your body and beckons you to bed, that's why.

Baekhyun's wearing an old t-shirt and his red boxers while Minseok's in his Oilers Jersey that he got for Christmas and his plain old black boxer briefs. 99 has never felt so good on his back. The younger boy is lying on his back with Minseok on top, his arms circling the elder's waist and creeping under his shirt to pat his little tummy. Bare legs are tangled together, diving into pillows to never be seen again. The bathtub cocoon is tinted warm pink and for the first time today, Minseok feels comfortable. They brought the tape player with them and put in Baekhyun's mixtape of 50s tracks with that shitty audio echoing off the tiled walls, Baekhyun's thoughts bouncing off them too and rebounding with new meaning.

Soulmates, Baekhyun decides to be his word of the night, just soulmates. That’s one hell of a thought.

"You ever thought about the meaning of that word, Seok? Hey, just think about it. We listen to this tape every time we're on a road trip in the summer and when this song comes on, you know what's outside? Cornfields, wheat fields, they bow in the wind and shimmer gold when the wind runs past them, or stand tall and green with pearls of yellow following their stems. Remember those acres of sweet smelling drying grass and plants? They tickle your nose and mix with the hot asphalt of the roads, and where the fields kiss the horizon we see a mirage. Did that ever make you think of soulmates? Those hours are spent driving through nothing but fields and you start to feel lost and tiny, so small, because the world looks so big. And that's just a tiny, tiny portion of the world. Think of oceans and roaring seas, snow-capped mountains and deserts that feel like blow-dryers, Minseokkie, d'you feel that twist in your tummy -- _pat_ \-- that makes you think ah, I'm so small? Just imagine that someone tells you that you have a soulmate. How'd you find them? And why, in this infinity, is your soulmate already so close to you? There’s no way that they can be one-of-a-kind, once in a lifetime.”

He loves those thoughts. Baekhyun loves to theorize. Minseok shrugs and nudges his foot to play with Baekhyun's.

"Soulmate’s jes' a fancy word."

"Ain't it just so."

They snuggle closer together, mouths shut as they think.

Jongdae says it's funny, how close the two are. Unlike uncle and nephew, unlike brothers, unlike lovers, unlike friends. Both of them are a mystery wrapped up in glittery packaging, he added. But there must've been a word for it. Something to think about when you're in Kris's yellow Westfalia, piled in the back with the rest of the group while the wind and sun beat down on your body from the rolled down windows.

"Maybe… We just have a lotta soulmates. Not love _love_ soulmates but the nice kind. The ones that make your tummy feel warm. Soulmate just describes a good feelin' person." He mused. Baekhyun gave his tummy another pat.

The tape player stuttered for a while and finally regained a hold of itself, playing _Angel Baby_. That song with the ridiculous name. As far as pet names go, angel baby is the most embarrassing (but one of the nicest to have). It's a soothing song, though. He hears Rosie and the Originals the most in the spring, when the sun's suddenly warm. Kyungsoo opens the windows and they usually do some cleaning. Nothing really beats fresh air, unless it's the airy voice that comes through the tape player.

"Soulmates are like angel babies." Baekhyun said. "You love them, so they're your very own, special angel babies. They come and pass but at one point, or for forever, they were your angel babies."

"You're my angel baby, Baek."

"You're my angel baby too."

"How many angel babies do you have?"

"Dunno, maybe… Six. Is Lu Han your angel baby?"

"No, he's a fuckwit."

"Figures."

Angel baby, that means you love them. Just like heaven, too good to be true, a whirlwind of warm tummies.

A muffled conversation on the other side of the door makes its way to Minseok's ears and he perks up, wondering who came by to visit. Baekhyun shuts his mouth and gently opens the shower curtain as if they'll hear better. Minseok's hoping it's Lu Han as he bites his lips and strains to hear the voice that accompanies Kyungsoo.

It takes two seconds for him to remember the new addition to Tuesday nights: Park Chanyeol.

He shrinks back into Baekhyun after shutting the curtain and decides to contemplate his freshly painted nails. Earlier, when Baekhyun was on his Tuesday phone dates with Jongdae, which aren't supposed to be called dates because _that's gay_ , Jongdae mentioned that he got Astro 537's signature, a prominent artist in the train painting dimension of the city. He said that he would come and show them tomorrow. On Monday nights, he avoids taking care of younger cousins and, in Baekhyun's words, "Goes to sketchy meetings in an abandoned underground station between guys who spray paint the city".

(Jongdae also asked Baekhyun to go see a movie after Sunday service, just the two of them, and as he twirled the mint cord of the telephone around his slender fingers, a dusting of pink settled on the latter's cheeks.)

If Jongdae is coming over tomorrow to show his book of signatures from his favourite graffiti artists, then Minseok could show him what the nail polish he bought him could do. Nail polish is the same as painting, Jongdae happily said as he swiped one of his cousin's credit cards, the only difference is that it doesn't come out of an aerosol spray. It’s your sort of art. His toes usually sport frosted pink, courtesy of Lu Han (sometimes when his socks are off Lu Han will give his toes small pecks, and as gross as it is Minseok doesn’t stop him), but painting his fingers is risky business. Luckily, he's on vegetable duty all week in the kitchens, no one will ever see his hands without a pair of gloves on.

Baekhyun starts to mess up Minseok's hair in thinly veiled disdain for Chanyeol's visit. To be fair, they’re relatively unbothered if that the two older men don't kiss or do gross PDA things on the couch; you shouldn't do things like that in an open space like a living room. He ends up forgetting about the tall man when Baekhyun starts making tiny little braids in his hair.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door.

"What's the password?" Echoes follow Baekhyun's shout in the bathtub.

It's Chanyeol knocking. Kyungsoo doesn't knock, he's not into that. "Hey buddy, I need to pee."

Curious, Minseok reopens the shower curtain to have a clear view of the door. In the meantime, Baekhyun shouts back “Wrong password!”

The door swings open nonetheless. Four eyes watch Chanyeol blink at them as he stands under the doorframe confusedly. He takes in Minseok leaning forwards with one hand still on the shower curtain, the crease between his eyebrows slowly smoothing out as he weighs the sight as normal, and then digs into a ravine once he finds Baekhyun and the nest of blankets with him.

"I-I need to pee." Chanyeol repeats. Minseok and Baekhyun just nod and collapse back on each other to stare at the ceiling. "Guys, get out. Please."

"Chanyeol, mate, the way to the toilet's cleared." The youngest in the room points Chanyeol to the toilet, two steps from the bathtub.

"Wh-- I can't just pee with both of you here!"

"Why not?" Baekhyun asks.

"Because I can't!"

"Why not?" Minseok decides to ask too, tapping his newly manicured nails on the tiled wall.

"It's fucking weird! Get out!"

"We're busy, Chanyeol-hyung! Minnie, tell him we're busy."

"I don't care, just get the fuck out! I'm not pissing with two eighteen year olds in the same room!" He cries out. They keep watching as he turns his head back to ask Kyungsoo if he does pee when both are in the bathroom, his face falling into despair. The answer doesn’t help him.

"Hey, we won't look."

"You gotta get used to us if you’re seeing Hyung." Minseok says. Prying into a man's love life really is the key to everything, he discovers, because Chanyeol reluctantly closes the door shut and takes in a deep breath.

"Don't look."

"Come on dude, we have better things to do, better dicks to see."

Idly, while he keeps on tapping his nails on the walls, Minseok wonders if Chanyeol is Kyungsoo's soulmate. With him trying to pee in a bathroom with his boyfriend's family, it's not a very romantic idea.

Meanwhile, Chanyeol kneels in front of the toilet.

"Ah, a kneeler." Baekhyun comments.

Chanyeol pulls his fly down and is probably glaring at the wall; he's doing his best to avoid seeing Baekhyun and Minseok. "What do you want me to do, stand and get piss everywhere?"

"I dunno, sit? We sit, right Minseok? But Minseok doesn't have a choice with the dick he has."

Without missing a beat, Minseok tells Chanyeol that "Baekhyun drew a penis on his stomach with my new Tinkerbell lipstick an’ showed it to five people, he thought he was _actually_ funny."

"Can we stop talking about genitalia, please." Chanyeol grunts out. He seems to want to go against nature's whims, but business is business. Willpower escapes him. It’s like a broken radio. Logically, you put duct tape around it, but your radio is still broken. So, you go to the nearest store and ask at the counter for white glue, pass your ID to the clerk to prove that you're not a fourteen-year-old junkie in the search for glue, and then slather it over the tape. But it's still broken. And after layer and layer of reparations, you realize that you couldn't listen to the news because you were on AM, not FM. That's what Chanyeol looks like as he urinates, washes his hands in passive aggressive vigour, and storms out of the bathroom.

The hand soap smells like lavender, and Minseok is reminded of Baekhyun's ramblings -- soulmates are supposed to be pretty. The idea's too romantic to pass off as Chanyeol.

Maybe in the end, Baekhyun was right -- it's just a sham. You're just caught in the eternity of corn stalks that reach to the heavens and you search for paradise. It's the same thing as pretending your bathtub is Florida. But, here's the thing, because Chanyeol left the door open and although Baekhyun's still fixated on the ceiling, Minseok keeps his eyes trained on the man.

Kyungsoo puts his cigarette down and smiles, the heart shaped one. They exchange a few words and he reaches for the remote to shut the T.V, watches Chanyeol walk over to the bookcase and sift through the vinyl pouches. He picks out a few records: disco, by the looks of the purple, glittery sleeve, Kyungsoo's favourites, Queen, Blondie, and a couple others he can't see well. Chanyeol's comparing the sleeves and holding them up to the light as if he's matching them to some mood, asking Kyungsoo which one looks better. Kyungsoo doesn't give a lot of fucks in situations like these, but-- but--

Kyungsoo's smiling like he's never been fonder of anything in the whole universe.

That's it.

The spark missing in Baekhyun.

Things overlooked because they're tiny and insignificant, but Minseok falls in love with the idea behind each little smile, the crinkles at the end of Kyungsoo's eyes, and Chanyeol's matching grin. The record player is set on the sofa and Minseok leans forward to shut their tape player, his fingers lingering on the pause button while Baekhyun's linger on his ankle to pull him back down onto the soft Florida sands to soak up the white-capped beach waves. That's it. The music sounds sweet because there's Kyungsoo, there's Chanyeol, there's mirth in their eyes he can recognize even from a distance. This world doesn't always have to be dripping in rose because eventually, when Chanyeol takes Kyungsoo's hands and spins him in the living room to make him laugh, it'll find a way to brush over the less pretty parts with gardenias to make it better.

Soulmates, in the conventional way, might not be real; but angel babies do. You know, you know that despite the burn on Minseok's temple that's slowly healing and his short hair and Baekhyun's lip cut from an altercation at the university he won't talk about (but that Minseok knows enough about), Minseok can still have his lilacs and roses and gardenias -- because there's something in Chinatown. There's something in the air, or the water, maybe even the sun that has to be filtered through mazes of telephone wires, satellite dishes, fading red and yellow store signs and clotheslines. It's something that starts in the paint Jongdae sets free on walls, the ink of Baekhyun's articles and poems, Yixing’s freedom on his motorbike, even the photographs that Lu Han denies taking and asks Minseok to forget; something that's now scrawled in Chanyeol's big hands that hold Kyungsoo's.

Dunno how he'd call it.

What matters is that it's all-encapsulating in all feelings tender and sweet to drive Minseok to a serene part of the universe where's there's nothing bad. There's angels, and if anything, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo spend half of their time calling Minseok a baby.

The night stretches on with Baekhyun using his head to lean his Supergirl comic against, and in sunny Florida Minseok wishes that he could see Lu Han soon just to see if he can feel the fields of sunflowers and barley, the chipping paint of the yellow Westfalia, the empty blue sky in his eyes, and tell himself that even if the world’s big with people plenty, Lu Han is all, if not the best, he needs.

 

o.0.o

 

Winter makes your hands dry, cracked, and bleeding, especially Lu Han’s. Even when March turns up around the corner, his hands have no rest.

Lu Han's hands are an enigma. Compared to Minseok's they're big, but Lu Han is only three inches or so taller than him -- if compare palm to palm, Lu Han's fingers reach about an inch over the tip of Minseok's nails. His hands aren't anything like Kris's, which dwarf Minseok's and make him look like a baby, but they have a good size to them. He has blisters at the base of his fingers, the type a child gets after monkey bars, and Minseok used to try to understand a wordy Physics question in the locker room as Lu Han would take a needle and pop them. They soon turned to callouses.

Lu Han's nails aren't very nice. He used to bite them a lot but Yixing's scolds got the best of him, and the trade-off was cutting them horrendously short every time. From the nature of his work, his hands are very worn, sometimes making it seem like his veins pop out due to exertion. Like most guys Minseok has protruding veins, more prominent than Baekhyun, but there's some sort of daintiness to them. Probably just 'cause he has the smallest hands, they ruin a lot of his rep. It’s hard to open jars. Lu Han's veins still pop out as they trail up his forearms and Minseok can stare at them for weeks.

But one of the most important details is that Lu Han's fingers are long. Minseok's fingers are more like stubs in comparison, little nubs. Lu Han’s fingers easily curl around his wrist, overlapping his thumb, and they easily stroke over his nose or press against his lips when Lu Han needs him to be quiet (not in a mean sort of way, sometimes sleepy, sometimes jokingly). The colour, too. Minseok's hands are all butterscotch, his knuckles bleeding at times, his nails a myriad of colours when he feels safe enough, with palms paler than his body and tinges of pink. Lu Han's are more uniform with streaks of faint blue-green. They seem more normal. And something about the sun-kissed skin is different than Minseok's as it trails up his arm or pokes his thighs.

It might just be because he likes his hands, but Minseok starts to get more comfortable with Lu Han's _more_ touches. It's hard for Minseok to refuse him. Harder when he’s looking through the student newspaper and gets to conclude that he can’t be sick, and that there’s very little chance for Lu Han to be sick either, even more difficult when he finds the romantic short stories that enthused Baekhyun so much when the editors entrusted him with the task. He now silently asks for Lu Han to kiss him, hold him close or pepper his lips across his neck until it feels familiar, or to just tiptoe on the border of more and wear bright smiles in his eyes and lips that become sunshine in his fingers.

The real enigma is that Lu Han's hands are kind of ugly, especially the nail part, but they're one of Minseok's favourite Lu Han Things. He'll find himself missing those long fingers playing with his lips, the hand that likes to squeeze at his nape, and being held by the waist.

It turns Minseok stupid.

Really stupid.

Kyungsoo was out with Chanyeol for the night and Baekhyun was pulling an all-nighter for the student newspaper, the clacking of the typewriter becoming unbearable. Minseok even tried eating his supper in the closet but it wasn't soundproof enough. He tried to daydream, and his thoughts just turned a tinge shameful. Kris likes to lean in and tell Minseok “That’s healthy for a boy your age” out of context, and this is exactly the context Kris was hinting at. Minseok could generate enough power for a village with the heat his cheeks are making.

The phone rings and he sprints to the bathroom, locks himself in, and prays that it’s Lu Han.

“Hello?” He holds the receiver delicately, waits one-two-three until a wave of relief passes through his body when he recognizes the voice at the other end.

“ _Birdie, Kris isn’t here for the night._ ” Lu Han says, sounding embarrassed. It's a subtle plea for Minseok sleep over.

To clarify, he's not allowed to sleep alone in case he does more property damage or hurts himself while sleepwalking. There haven’t been any incidents in the last months, but it’s a small precaution that makes Lu Han feel better. “ _Please?_ ”

Minseok smiles to the point of making his cheeks hurt, a different type of excitement making him jittery. “You telling me to sleep over?”

“ _Y-yeah?_ ”

“… In your _bed_?”

“ _Birdie, shut the fuck up_.”

“Mm, I’m comin’ over anyways. Are you home yet?”

“ _No, I need to wrap up some things at work. I’ll see you later. In my bed, I guess._ ”

“Yeah, in your bed.”

“ _No funny business._ ” Lu Han adds in a mocking tone, coaxing a laugh from Minseok.

“No funny business.”

“ _… I really want to see you._ ” Minseok stills at Lu Han’s words. “ _I really, really want to--_ ”

Someone yells out Lu Han’s name and he abruptly hangs up. Minseok’s left alone in the bathroom again with a quickly beating heart.

Tiptoeing out to leave Baekhyun undisturbed, he makes his way to Kyungsoo's bedroom to get dressed more appropriately. He almost yelps when he hears Baekhyun's voice interrupt, loud and clear. "Slow down there, cowboy. Dress better than that."

        Baekhyun’s trying to grow a mullet, so Minseok can’t be the ugly one.

"I-it's winter, it's the warmest clothes I got. Go back to work."

"You're insufferable. You're not going to see your chicken daddy looking like that."

"Who the fuck--"

Minseok sits on Kyungsoo's bed while he waits for Baekhyun to take out a white button up shirt, a ribbon, and those stupid blue velvet shorts he snagged at the Salvation Army, stating that it accentuated Minseok's small waist and the small swell of his hips. He instructs Minseok to take out his shoebox and do the rest. His shoebox is becoming a steadily growing collection of knick-knacks and makeup, every piece a little something of affection from somebody. Somewhere in January Yixing gave him those cute Avon lip balms (the strawberry, vinyl, and ice cream ones), Kyungsoo bought him a small tube of foundation to cover up his burn, and Lu Han's always trying to please him with colourful, flowery tubes and pots and bottles and everything -- it feels like he's trying to buy him the world. Minseok tells him not to, but Lu Han's got his heart set on it. He wishes that he can do enough to reciprocate the skips in his heartbeat and giddy butterflies in his stomach.

It feels weird to be dolled up to this extent, but Minseok likes the blush, the lipstick, his golden nails, the flowery hairpins that Kris gave him that he never wore before, and his thighs wrapped in blue velvet. Baekhyun comes back with hand warmers and Minseok's boots so that they can pop as many as possible inside to compensate for his shorts. “Come on, we're in early March, temperatures are only dropping to minus ten or something." He said, which might have been untrue. At the door, he put on the thickest down coat he could find, a tuque, thick mittens, and Baekhyun's already wrapped three scarves around him.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just feel like you're all grown up." Baekhyun unlocks the door, leaving the chain locks swinging around like pendulums, and has his hand steady on the doorknob. His eyes are soft in the mature way, Minseok remarks, surprised; there's people in your life that remain timeless, untouched by the Earth's orbits and revolutions, that you forget that you're not both ten anymore, that so many years have already passed and you've become different people. Feel like you're all grown up, yeah, it's so hard to see that. "You're all spacey again, Minseokkie."

"Mm?"

"Just get out before I get too side-tracked." He opens the door and pushes Minseok outside, watching him stumble on the landing. "See you later, alligator."

"Good luck on your papers, Baek, you're gonna do a real swell job." In an instant, there's a quirk in Baekhyun's lips and he leans against the doorway, mockingly blowing a kiss goodbye that makes Minseok smile widely.

"In a while, crocodile." Minseok says before they part.

Snow at night is always special because it has a way to distort the light and the landscape. He doesn't have much time to appreciate it as he hurries to get out of Finch street and weave through the smaller roads to find Kris's barbershop, however. If he chooses to focus on the black sky, the soft glow of the snow, and the not-burning-yet heat from his boots, Minseok can find the energy to think about Lu Han and distance himself from the cold gale.

Kris's barbershop is a charming little place. It occupies the first floor of the three-storey building and the apartment consists of the other two stories. The lights are all out. The only way inside is the back door and Minseok… doesn't have the key. Shit.

Staying still at the door really drills in the fact that Minseok's being completely ridiculous. He was confident in being coquettish but there's some serious self-doubt going on. Baekhyun said he looked nice. Baekhyun had to be right.

_Lu Han wanted to see him._

After a few minutes, an easily recognizable figure appeared at the distance. His heart skipped a beat and he spluttered. His confidence quickly returned and he shuffled from foot to foot, unsure of what to do and waiting for some God-given impulsive streak.

Impulsive or not, there was a dizzying feeling in his heart when he caught Lu Han turning the corner of the street. The world felt like a fairy-tale, he swore it did. Snow fell in thick clumps, white turning orange once it passed under the streetlights. His hands reached for the zipper and pulled down, quickly taking his coat off.  It made no sense because he shuddered and the skin of his thighs were surely turning an angry red, but Minseok wanted to. He opened the door and shoved the coat inside before anyone could catch him in the act. Lu Han looked up from watching his feet sink in the snow once Minseok was ready to look pretty, he guesses, ready to look nice for Lu Han in the cold. Blue light wrapped around him in subdued shadows with the faint glow of orange on his cheeks and knees, his blue velvet shorts glimmering like the billion stars in the night sky, all while he kept still at the door even if he was freezing.

Something lit up in Lu Han's eyes, noticeable even from where Minseok was standing -- it had an ambiguous nature to it, and despite that, Minseok felt raw happiness pour into his veins. Glee with no reason, no thought, no words, that he smiles with his lips, his teeth, his eyes, his pink cheeks, until the sky seems to smile too.

Lu Han started jogging, his breath following his footsteps in clouds of white, and the eagerness in his eyes made Minseok feel a little less cold.

"Why are you waiting for me in shorts?" Lu Han asked once he stepped on the landing with Minseok's hands in his, rubbing warmth back into his skin.  Minseok didn't reply, too fixated on the snowflakes dotting Lu Han's hair. "Do you have a death wish?"

"No."

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, let's get you inside." He huffed while opening the door. He didn't seem to notice Minseok's coat lying on the ground, and Minseok liked to think that he was too good of a distraction for Lu Han to notice anything. "You able to walk? Not too cold?"

"Not too cold."

"It's minus twenty with the wind, birdie! Don't come here and say that it doesn't hurt at all," Minseok bit his lips to suppress a giggle. It was hard with a frozen face.

Lu Han has this careful part about him, worry that seems especially catered for Minseok only. He's three steps from becoming an angel and what holds him back is his vivacity, the raucous turbulence in his laugh and his hair in the wind that make him so… It's hard to say, but you say, "Lu Han" and that's what Minseok's heart conjures. "Did you really stay outside because I said that I wanted to see you, you fucking idiot?"

"S'okay."

"Bullshit, look at your legs! How you gonna walk up the stairs like that?" Minseok shrugged in response and fumbled to turn on the lights. He took his boots off, some hand warmers falling to the ground, while Lu Han hung his own coat and threw his boots into the closet. Lu Han's hands were confused as they took in Minseok's pink thighs, pink cheeks, and pink ears; after a few worried touches here and there, they found home around his waist and pressed at the small of his back. Minseok finally started to feel his own face and registered that he was smiling like an idiot in Lu Han's hold. When Minseok’s limbs felt like they were indeed his own limbs, Lu Han started to calm down. There was an idea lingering on his face and it lit him up into a wide grin.

Before he could say anything, Lu Han threw Minseok over his shoulder. It was kind of awkward because he put his arm between his legs to hoist him up the way Lao Gao -- resident fireman and a close friend -- taught him and it rammed against his crotch, but once Lu Han's shoulder was puncturing his stomach he felt pretty okay, giggling when Lu Han started to climb the stairs.

Barely romantic but completely filled with butterflies in his stomach and the most satisfied smile in the world pressed against Lu Han's warm back.

"I think I know why you waited for me." Lu Han says once he puts Minseok down in front of his bedroom door. Minseok keeps his arms looped around Lu Han's neck and quirks his head sideways, playing with the short hairs on the back of Lu Han's head. Burning, he's burning; only from his skin because of the temperature change, but he wants it to be because of Lu Han. Because it's at night, that mysterious, unexplored night. Maybe the darkest skies and the brightest stars can swallow Minseok into eternity so that he can dip his hands through time to find Lu Han, a single glance blistering and a single touch sparking flames on his fingers. If he were eternity, then any second could become a year and any minute, a decade -- Minseok can twist that Realness of Lu Han and turn his human impermanence permanent, could make Lu Han his for infinity. And they'd burn like a star, lasting for ages, very much unlike a candle that becomes a lonely pool of wax. He hums at Lu Han's remark and steps closer, their chests touching.

Lu Han's eyes are planets, stardust, the Milky Way all locked up into two tiny orbs. Minseok wonders how quickly he can lose himself once everything is laid out before him, caressing him, dragging him down until he becomes Lu Han's.

The first galaxy seeps out with Lu Han's low voice by his ear. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

Minseok's gone by then, his wide eyes reflecting the tails of comets that trail through the electricity that Lu Han's body brings him.

Blue velvet met grey tartan and Lu Han's lips met Minseok's peach ones. His lipstick was light but the smear was noticeable as Lu Han pointed out, kissing him again like he wanted to further mess up his makeup. Like a fairy-tale, Minseok thinks again, really like a fairy-tale: because the curtains are wide open and the whole room basks in a soft glow from a nearby streetlight, because it's snowing and his hairpins hold onto his head like a crown the more Lu Han kisses him into the mattress, and the whole world is existing in hushed tones. He'd believe anyone who'd say that there, it's just them in this room who are living.

The world holds still for Lu Han's deep kisses.

Blue velvet slides against denim and Lu Han's hands slide up Minseok's shirt. Strangely, Minseok feels no guilt tonight. It's as if he thinks that this is right, this is okay and will always be okay no matter how far they go; that there is no hatred, no hurt, no ugly; just this, only this, this fairy-tale painted in a tiny Chinatown bedroom in a light softer than satin.

Not the dark kind of fairy-tale, you know? Not England woods and vague deaths. Rather, the type that leaves you with a lazy smile, with that whimsical shade of purple that's almost light pink and with silver shimmers, opals and pearls and other jewels -- willow trees that sleepily sigh into rivers and spill onto lily pads and green frogs, flowers with the softest petals and sweetest smells, and you know, the sound of rain falling softly on the ground or water lapping at the riverbed. That fairy-tale.

Lu Han said something like that once, the winter before he left for Vancouver. They were near the riverbank that Yixing likes to take Minseok to. The water was covered in ice and snow and the trees became bells with the passing wind, ice encasing the branches and making them sing. Minseok was in the middle of a clearing in virgin snow, his gaze cast upwards to falling snowflakes -- there isn't anything more surreal than watching snowflakes fall when you're directly under them. Right then Lu Han walked behind him, put his hands firmly on his waist and lifted him up, eventually carrying him bridal style.

"I'm practicing for musical theatre. I'm some prince running after an ice fairy and the girl in my group's about your size."

"That sounds like a big, fat, lie. Y'just like manhandling people."

"Birdie, it's not my fault if you're standing around like a pretty boy. I'll have you know that ice fairies are the nice ones who feel the way the sun reflects on icicles and frost and how the snow picks up dustings of snow on ice, like, you know when the snow runs across the river? That's you, I swear it's you. Fairy, in the good sense.”

Not used to having Lu Han touch him so much but really enjoying it at the same time, Minseok pulled his scarf up until his eyelashes would bat against it when he blinked so that he could hide his smile and muffle his laugh.

Blue velvet teased by Lu Han’s hands brings Minseok back to the not-so-reality of a fairytale. Whispers of encouragement are breathed next to his ear and mix into thoughts of reassurance until Minseok's consumed with wanting this.

Humans are funny that way. You sway them with kisses or smiles.

He seeks Lu Han's lips again and warmth drips down to his toes.

Minseok wants them to go somewhere, anywhere, wants them to go as far as far goes. His hands hold Lu Han's nape and keep him close, his skin burning Minseok's cold body. Blue velvet burns under Lu Han's touch and begs for salvation or more.

Lu Han is gentle. He gets Minseok to sit up against his pillows and settles somewhere between his legs. There's a heavy pause once his attention is on Minseok instead of touching Minseok.

"I think I get it, when you say that the world doesn't feel like reality."

"Do you?"

"Mm, I can't tell if I'm touching you or air. If you're a dream or a person. If I saw you last a day ago, a year ago, or just a second ago." Minseok reaches out to guide Lu Han's hands up to his face, allowing himself to be cradled in his hold. Lu Han looks at him amusedly. "There's sewer rats in the alley next to the barbershop but there's you in my bed."

Minseok's heart beats loud, like it's about to puncture his chest. He squirms, uncomfortable with the sweet words, and looks away. "Are you gonna do something or not?"

"Dunno. Depends on what you want." Lu Han shrugs and squeezes Minseok's cheeks together. "But you don't really know exactly what you want, do you? Or did Baekhyun tell you to have a first time before me?"

Minseok chokes and shakes his head, eyes as wide as they can get. "W-No! I wouldn't-- no! What the _fuck_?"

"Hey, if you kissed Yixing you might've gone further, how should I know? He'd keep a lid shut tight over it and never say a word about it. And I don't really care, it's just so that I know what I can and can't do yet. So, you really don't know, right?"

The wince in his eyes are from concern, and Minseok knows that, because Lu Han knows him like Minseok's his own creation.

He's not wrong. Minseok knows enough dirty jokes to know about men and women, but between him and Lu Han, there's nothing. And somehow that's funny to him. Despite his fluttering heart and goo-filled brain, Minseok laughs. "Not a scooby-doo."

It makes Lu Han laugh too, the sort of rumble in his chest when as he bites his lips to stifle it. His cheeks are pink when he grins wickedly. "Then I'll do something gentle. As far as gentle goes. We don't need to go fast, and you don't need to concern yourself over me -- I'll just take care of you only." Gentle sounds like everything Lu Han's ever been, so Minseok nods. Lu Han pecks his lips before staring at Minseok's shirt, calculating something in his mind. They smile at each other as if it would wash off the awkwardness, Lu Han's hands believing in them.

It takes three seconds for Minseok to have his head spin from the nebula seeping through his skin.

Those lips pressed against his have got to belong to the interstellar -- they're not special, they're scarred and chapped, but they're still so special. Especially unspecial, unspecially special. He gradually has him leaning back against the pillows, his lower back flush with the mattress and his head sinking into feathers. Like this, Lu Han can easily run his hands up and down his sides and undo the ribbon around his neck, then move onto the buttons of his shirt. He's encouraged by the noises Minseok makes and gets more and more confident, his fingers running across bare skin as his eyes flicker to the shirt he's just discarded. It's embarrassing to be exposed this way, with yellowing and freshly purple bruises dotted here and there and his little tummy poking out from the top of his shorts, but Lu Han finds a way to make him forget about it.

Minseok breathes again, not noticing he stopped, once a hand passes through his short hair. He laments the loss of his long hair sometimes, but it doesn't get in the way anymore. Lu Han can run his fingers through his bangs, trace the green glass and golden metal of his hairpins, and gently pull on the shorter hairs on the back of his head to elicit bashful beginnings of moans. His skin doesn't burn anymore, it buzzes in some pleasurable haze.

Lu Han seems to have thought about this a lot because he's taking care of Minseok in such a methodical way. He goes slowly, kneading the plush parts of his body with the odd cheeky squeeze to his ass, leaves open mouthed kisses on his neck, and runs his hands up his sides like he knows it turns Minseok crazy. His whole body is being mapped out with teeth to mark the sensitive spots and kisses to reward the moans that guide Lu Han, bruises that he’ll gladly wear and the only shades of purple that would ever suit him.

There's velvet in the way Lu Han's fingers trace the curves of his body.

"It's quiet," Minseok starts to whine, self-conscious of the noises coaxed out of him. There might be faint songs playing from the radio but they're too quiet. "Say somethin'."

Lu Han looks up from sucking on his collarbones. "You really need that?"

Minseok nods as he tangles his hands into Lu Han's black hair, chest heaving, and whispers "Lu-ge, say somethin’ nice."

"Bossy."

The golden button holding blue velvet together gets popped open; blue velvet like blue tears, the purest kind there is because it's the colour of the sea, that well up in his eyes and threaten to fall on apple red cheeks. Lu Han bears an air of nonchalance when he presses his lips to Minseok's temple and pulls the shorts down his thighs, humming in agreement to his demand.

"You're beautiful." Lu Han murmurs between two kisses, palming Minseok through his underwear. The intimate touch is more than Minseok thought and his hips buck up while he blinks rapidly, lips parted on a moan. Satisfied with the reaction (a little too giddy, Minseok thinks, for the situation), Lu Han hooks his fingers in the elastic band of his underwear and mutters some praise in his inner thigh, the words lost to Minseok. He uncovers snow white skin and he's quick to worship it, smiling against the crease of his hips and thighs when Minseok mewls. When Minseok's gaze turns to burning on Lu Han's shirt, he's quick to strip it (joining the shirt, the shorts and boxer briefs) before returning to Minseok. He's not bulky, but he's muscular in the functional way; no supermodel, but really -- really really, really, really, real nice. Even with the burn he got from setting the neighbour's dog house on fire that Yixing calls wicked in the weird sense of the word, Lu Han’s beautiful. "You're like a piece of paradise." Lu Han says.

Minseok moans again, hands coming up to twist in the pillowcase as Lu Han suck marks on his thighs that no one will see, each making his head spin with mewls escaping him. "You say you're stupid, but it's a kind stupid. It's a follow-your-heart sort of stupid, even if you pretend to be rational. It makes you the sweetest kid I've ever seen." He hiccups when Lu Han shifts back up to kiss his lips and brush his sweaty bangs away from his face, his other hand moving down, down, down, spreading heat through his body that he's never felt before. It's fiery. It's consuming him. He's drowning, falling into a giant sun as he lets the flames lick at his body and with Lu Han above him, watching him lose himself in pleasure with wonder and soft affection in his eyes, Minseok's getting swallowed up by a star while he watches galaxies unravel in the most extraordinary colours and shapes. He might be crying as he whines loudly and covers his mouth, sloppily biting his fingers to shut himself up. Lu Han laughs softly above him and strokes his length slowly, and Minseok wonders if he can see the waves of pleasure that shoot up through his ribcage and light up his body.

Minseok's breath is caught in his throat and he hangs in some void for a couple of seconds before the feeling of blue velvet, the velvet of Lu Han's rough palms, one smoothing over his thighs and dragging his nails up his ribcage to tease his pink, puffy nipples with his thumb, drags him closer to climax.

He hiccups again with teary eyes and red-bitten lips like he doesn't deserve sugar coated words. Lu Han gives too much to be human, he's too much to contemplate in a single lifetime. "Don't go around saying that." Minseok says, his fingers twitching in short black locks to then pull Lu Han up to hover above his face.

Minseok shudders at another wave of pleasure when Lu Han pinches both of his nipples and chokes a bit when he whines "Shut up." More hot tears make their way past his hot, hot cheeks when he closes his eyes. Lu Han's now holding him close with a hand under his back to follow the arch, and Minseok pulls him in closer with his legs bracketing his body, his own hands pressing against Lu Han's hot, hot skin while he buries his face into the crook of his neck.

"Birdie," Lu Han starts to say. He never really finishes because he's too occupied with kissing, praising, worshipping. His free hand lets go of the handful of Minseok so that it can drift to his hips to grace his stretch marks and slowly move to his ass, groping (not in the crude sort of way, but in the loving sort of way) it in earnest. "Birdie, fuck, you look so--"

Whenever Minseok imagined a supernova, it was a titanic explosion, with debris and dust and clouds and heat, astounding heat, rippling in the cosmos. A bright, bright light. It was like a lightbulb that goes out. Like when a lightbulb flashes bright, bright white, with a noise like metal hitting metal, before it goes out. It's such a loud noise. There's no noise in space, but he can wonder what a supernova sounds like. Lu Han once rolled his eyes and said, "Like the propane explosion a few years ago, duh." when Minseok brought it up, like--

Bang.

Loud and bone-shattering, exactly the same feeling that pours into Minseok's veins and makes his ears ring because when Lu Han's hand pulls one of his cheeks away to expose his hole, his thumb starts to press against his perineum and Minseok just loses it. The pressure only builds and the pressure only gets higher, the same as his moans and cries, and he's dangling at the edge of his orgasm when Lu Han pushes Minseok against his chest so that his ragged voice can-- it's, Minseok's slipping away, can't tell what he's saying, that hot breath by the shell of his ear, it just--

" _I love you_."

White blooms behind Minseok's eyelids and the only thing left to do is cry. Lu Han keeps pressing, rubbing little circles as he trembles in his arms, hiccupping as the pleasure seems to ride out forever to leave him as a boneless mess, cum spurting over his tummy. In his small experience he’s never had it so intense, drag out for so long and make his body twitch.

Lu Han slumps down next to him once he's subsided and kisses his cheek, brushes his hair from his face and starts tracing his hairpins while he waits for Minseok to untangle his mind and come back down to reality.

Galaxies give way to the simple night sky, the moon hanging over their heads. Minseok breathes for what feels like the first time in forever, even if his thighs are still shaking a little.

"You're crying like that time Yixing slapped your butt and it really scared you." Lu Han remarks. He's trying to keep his voice cool but it's scratchy and it's driving on potholes, matching his disheveled state from watching Minseok fall apart. That's just the way he is. Lu Han is what he calls manly, but at the same time he's a dork under his confidence. But that's just the way Minseok loves him. "I-it's cute. Really cute."

They stared at each other before Lu Han remembered that he kind of has a raging erection. He got up quickly, stormed off to the bathroom, and came back some moments later with his cock tucked safely back into his boxers (his pants disappeared) and a wet towel to clean Minseok up.

 

"I love you." Lu Han repeats that night, when they're lying next to each other under the sheets, believing that body heat is a thing.

Minseok knows.

That's why he's too lost in his heart to answer back, kissing Lu Han's sharp jaw in exchange and letting himself be held securely.

It's a mutual thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow minseok almost got dicked how crazy is that
> 
> thank you so much for waiting?!!?!! i think theres a bunch of typos in there 
> 
> fics on aff desktops look ugly as shit but it's way better here
> 
> again, thank you so much for reading this!
> 
>  
> 
> these lipgloss thingies are so cute: http://velvetstrawberries.typepad.com/andreasingarella/2009/04/avon-calling.html


	6. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok and Lu Han, because it's Minseok and Lu Han and never one without the other, are faced with truths.

 

1985, spring. The weather is generally sunny, but when it rains, it's in storms. Chanyeol wins a bonus from a random draw in his company and spends it on a three-night trip out of town with Kyungsoo. Minseok and Baekhyun move into Jongdae's big household in the meantime, the apartment feeling too empty.

 

 

While walking to the first day of work of his life as a nineteen-year-old, Minseok takes a detour to the old park he used to go to. There isn’t much going on — in a few weeks the weather will thaw it out.

Before he was adopted, Kyungsoo would get permission to take Minseok out to the park in Little Italy, the one with the big play structure that comes with a plastic slide that won't burn you, with the big kid and little kid swing sets, the purple dinosaur on a spring, and wooden benches surrounded by flower boxes. Kyungsoo often sat on the bench with the wood grain that looked like a cat, next to the sunflowers. When Minseok would climb up the roof of play structure to sit on the summit and the wind bent the tall stalks of the sunflowers just right, it looked like Kyungsoo was getting swallowed by sunshine. He looked forward to those times. The group home was getting crowded and he couldn't find peace in the bunk beds, the common room, the closets, or even on the porch. It was a bit of a small house but it was not a calamity. Chinatown standard. If it was Sunday and they went to play after service, Kyungsoo would buy him ice cream. Baekhyun still spent most of his days with his mother at that time; she hadn't moved out yet to work at the factory out of town.

He had forgotten about it, but now he remembers another detail. It would always start with Minseok holding hands with Kyungsoo, who'd wear the leather jacket with _Yellow Peril_ stitched on the back. It was the name of Kyungsoo's punk gang, which didn't really do anything but hang out when they weren't working their asses off. That's real punk rock philosophy, Kyungsoo once told him. Minseok couldn't know how to reply, so he settled for asking to get his ears pierced Just Like His Hyung. Behind them, or beside Kyungsoo depending on the sidewalk, would be a much taller, ganglier, and somewhat uncomfortable boy wearing a The Clash t-shirt following them. He'd sit beside Kyungsoo and play cards while Minseok played in the park, he'd buy the ice creams on Sunday as well as a pack of cigs for Kyungsoo, and he'd happily wear matching Doc Martens (it's not hard for them to match but Minseok now knows they were meant to match) with Kyungsoo. Minseok, at the height of his nine-going-on-ten life, indeed felt very, very, very threatened.

He watches the soap float around in the sink of the kitchens, warm, soapy water up to his now-pink elbows. It’s like warm rain. Minseok couldn't bear not going to the park even if it rained. It would soak through his clothes, his arms a display of pearls, but he'd find serenity in Kyungsoo's eyes right under his umbrella. The soap swirls and his mind goes blank. Dishwashing is that much of a mindless job.

Someone tugs on his two small pigtails, invading the dumb space of his mind and prompting his immediate response.

"Oh, hyung," Minseok says. Kyungsoo's hand reaches over to close the tap. The hot water ceases and Minseok pulls his hands out, drip-dripping with fat droplets of water.

"Kitchen's closing. Come with me."

"Mmm." Minseok lifts his arms as Kyungsoo unties his apron and slips it off. They lock up and go back to their apartment to dress up for church – Kyungsoo promises to light candles for him as a present.  He takes the uniform off for cleaner clothes, wraps himself up in scarves, and despite the biting wind outside, ignores his boots to put on Lu Han's present for him. It’s a pair of white pumas, exactly like Lu Han's red ones with the white stripes but the opposite. They’re quickly on his feet and he admires them in the light from the table lamp. Even if it were cold tonight or tomorrow, he told Lu Han, he was going to wear them. "You sure like freezing yourself, don't you?" Lu Han replied while shaking his head this morning, both under his tartan comforter. Minseok doesn't remember if he punched or kissed Lu Han for saying that, but he ended up panting under the heavy touch of Lu Han's hands, being made fun of for making sounds that were too close to mewls. They certainly kissed, Minseok's memory tells him, they must've, because Minseok feels too helpless if Lu Han's lips aren't close to his.

It's snowing a bit as they walk to church. The snowflakes melt as soon as they touch the ground, but they stay in Kyungsoo's hair and in the creases of his warmest leather jacket. There are a few old women who are trying to benefit from the heating in the building when they arrive, and although they aren't here for the holy, the spiritual, or at least for the sights, Minseok's palms sweat a little and his eyes nervously dart about them. Kyungsoo pushes Minseok forward then, towards the candles, gently reminding him that he's not alone. He drops three dimes in for the Taiwanese militants and stares at Minseok with a smile that reminds him of freshly picked strawberries in the summer.

The church is quiet; the silence actually hums. It thrums in his ribcage and through his fingers to do the same to Kyungsoo, first by his fingers, his arm, then his whole body. He nuzzles into Kyungsoo's shoulder as he watches him light the first candle, softly mumbling, "For his mother." They wait a minute for a prayer. Minseok wonders if Kyungsoo has anything to say – it's a twisted fate. Perhaps he thanks the woman for bringing Minseok into the world, and thanks her once more for trusting him to take care of her son.

With a poised hand, Kyungsoo lights the second one, says, "For the Oilers, 'cause no one likes the Philadelphia Flyers and playoffs are approaching." and they pray once more; Kyungsoo then pauses in front of the third candle. "Gretzky's taking good care of his team. Does he really need another candle?"

Minseok ponders on it and shakes his head. He knows what the third candle will be for, but it’s embarrassing to say it out loud. Gingerly, he places his hand over Kyungsoo's and lights the third one. For Happiness, he prays, Because we should all need that, and even if you weren't real or I didn't believe in you or anything, I'd still pray for it. Especially Hannie, 'cause he's in a pickle with his family right now, and you should see the bags under his eyes and the weight of his sighs, it'll make your big heart break if it hasn't yet. And Hyung too. He always needs some joy no matter what, and maybe stop by Baekhyun too. If you give me the strength to give it to them, that's fine too, 'cause they just need it somehow. You can take some too.

Kyungsoo smiles as if he heard everything. Maybe Kyungsoo is God, Minseok wildly entertains.

Kyungsoo holds his hand the way a father would to his daughter to walk her down the aisle as they step outside. Maybe there is peace of mind and peace of heart waiting for them at the altar. He wants to believe in it. “It's late, but you still wanna eat cake?” Kyungsoo asks, raising their joined hands to spin Minseok around. He nods. Wedding cake, Minseok idly thinks.

Things like weddings. Like Chanyeol and a disco record and Kyungsoo in the living room.

“Why do you like Chanyeol?” Minseok abruptly asks. Kyungsoo narrows his eyes in the fiendish way but still answers him.

“I don't know. Beats me.”

“Y'can't just say that!”

“Well, why do you like Han?”

He has to take a moment. Some reasons sound too stupid, some too superficial, some plain cheesy and some plain incomprehensible, and the best reason he has sounds like nothing (because it's Lu Han, he would say). "Beats me."

"Exactly."

“Then, then when didja love him?” Kyungsoo pauses for a while and shrugs, leading to the reformulation of "Hyung, when did you _realize_ that you loved him?"

Kyungsoo smiles wryly and spins Minseok around again. "We were fifteen, the morning after he helped me steal a bike for the first time since he used to chicken out all the time. He broke down crying when I was filling the milk jug with water ‘cause we only had less than a quarter of real milk left. You've ever seen a guy that tall cry? It's fucking weird. He said that I was so sad. You know, people feel pity sometimes, but Chanyeol was on some wicked level of empathy by watching me fill that jug with water. Yeah, I just watched him cry but I kind of felt good about it? Baekhyun was just like, five, and our mom was having hell trying to keep our shit together. But there was Chanyeol. For me."

The stars are scattered in the sky – they still find a way to bring some shine in Kyungsoo's eyes. It doesn't take a whole lot of extraordinary to feel a bit of love. Nothing's quite extraordinary, in retrospect.

Like park benches in the summer with the metal bolts that burn his skin and watching Lu Han juggle a soccer ball, hypnotized with every kick of his foot, his own tangled in the armrests. Minseok would perk up and say things like Lu Han, did you know that a group of cats's called a clowder? And Lu Han would stop juggling his soccer ball, keep it in the dip of his foot and ankle and say (between two-hundred-and-two and two-hundred-and-three) “Really? I didn't know that. You're smarter than the bunch of us, birdie.” Then he'd go back to his ball with a wider grin on his face. Lu Han once told him that he liked those times, they were his favourite. “You just say whatever’s on your mind, like you trust me. With your bunched-up socks and black sneakers from grade seven, sitting in a grocery cart or on Yixing's bike. Y'just, I don't know. Look bright. Like the light from the church's stained glass. Fuck. This is stupid, forget I ever said it."

The best part is that when Lu Han said so didn’t matter; it was just a little moment, a little passing thought amongst others. Minseok could have been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen – it was all the same.

Minseok lets go of Kyungsoo's hand to carefully walk on the curb. Thinking back on the park, he's gotten softer towards Chanyeol; it's difficult not to. Chanyeol nine years ago was different from Chanyeol today, but he somehow always had the same care for Kyungsoo. Now aged nineteen, Minseok wants to bring Kyungsoo the closure to his own little heart. Snowflakes melt on his cheeks, bringing pink patches of flush on them while a few cling to his eyelashes.

When Kyungsoo wanted to adopt Minseok, everyone thought it was a bad and reckless idea (which was true, Minseok admits) but Kyungsoo still went and somehow did it. Minseok remembers a lot of Chanyeol's attempts at dissuading Kyungsoo, overheard by chance. He said that Minseok would grow up to be those kids who feel like burnouts without having done anything. Be the kid on the rink who gets sent to fuck up someone on the opposing team like a dog told to sic ‘em. If he grows up pretty he'd be those young boys on Catherine Street with needle marks on their arms, the ones with bruised bodies who get used in the night. There was one thing he said in particular, and although Minseok could have pretended that his words flew past his head before, the statement stood true to him. Chanyeol turned to Kyungsoo, face singularly worried, and said "You can't take in a foster child like that and believe you'll wholeheartedly fix him." Truth is difficult to stomach, especially when group home kids would be tucked into their bunk beds and share terrible, terrible stories of mistake-children. They were far-fetched, but they felt real.

Minseok decided instead that Chanyeol was taking Kyungsoo from him, because after all, he had added, "It would take a miracle".

Funnier than that, though, was that Chanyeol still stayed at Kyungsoo's side, even when he had Minseok running around in his apartment. It was that sadness, not pity; that yearning for Kyungsoo's future to be brighter. That's special. It ain't even something big, but that's love.

(Besides, it might've been still at a bench in the park with the wood grain that looks like a cat when Minseok told Lu Han about it all, the soccer ball forgotten on the ground. Lu Han cupped his face, a bit odd for him at that time, with the softest eyes and the most tender heart, and managed to stir up tears that rolled past Minseok's cheeks. There was a miracle, he told him. He could have been struck by a shooting star, caught a fairy in his hands, or could have been miracle incarnate – because he was Good despite it all, not needing to be fixed. Minseok was good, and Lu Han thought so with all his heart and all his ten fingers and ten toes and all his mind, and that made Minseok a very happy boy.)

“Hyung, you're all layers of special. I dunno how you can live feelin' mundane.” Minseok says with his breath clouding about him.

“Minseok, shut the fuck up. Trying to talk about shit like love, I would've thought you were Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo huffs and pulls Minseok down from the curb to cross the street by his hips. He keeps his hands around him, although he scowls. “Don't waste your little head on wicked thoughts like that. Come on, birthday boy, we have cake to eat – Yixing brought you the candles, and flowers from Lu Han.”

Pink, purple, white lilacs and Jacob's Ladders (they're Chanyeol and Kyungsoo's favourite flower) make Minseok's heart smell sweet.

 

The night is spent on a queen-sized bed, belly full and mouth still tasting sugar, squeezed between Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, with a vase of bright yellow tulips at the bedside. At nineteen, you don't know anything, but you can feel enough to pretend you do. And that's enough for Minseok.

 

o.0.o

 

St. Patrick is an old and worn subway station. It has the heavy smell of humidity and dark corners, umber tiles for the floors and walls, as well as oak green beams and equally oak green signs. The only brightness would be from the trains themselves – wonderful silver and brilliant krylon. It comes to life through Jongdae's hands after living inside his sketchbook, finally running past the city, easily missed with the blink of an eye but memorable as it flashes by.

The station, like many others, is just a place that feels like grit. It's a peculiar feeling and it doesn't feel nice. It's dirty and unsettling. Even if he snuggles into Lu Han's bomber jacket for warmth, he's cold. Sheep wool ain't gonna do shit.

Minseok slumps on the bench and cocks his head sideways as he looks at the dull features around him. If he could find an emotion for it, it'd be that sort of dreariness from losing someone’s presence. In all futile meanderings that Baekhyun has contemplated, the world becoming different with a loved one gone was one of his firsts. That's just 'cause he liked to pry into Minseok's early life when they were younger on the swing sets. At that time, Minseok’s mouth was largely a gaping hole that made his words whistle.

“You ever wonder about your mom?” Baekhyun really liked to ask. “D'you think she really died, or y'think social services jes’ wanted to make you feel better?”

“I dunno.”

“Because if she didn't die, then that means she gave you up. Isn't that weird? Hey, Seokkie, Seokkie I'll keep you—” then he'd grunt as he pushed Minseok and watched his feet reach the skies. “—forever. I'll tell Kyungsoo-hyung to keep you forever, too. And if he don't I'll be your daddy.”

“I dun' need a daddy.” Minseok would half whistle.

“You need somebody, Minseokkie, that's what I heard the teachers say.”

And Minseok would jump from the swing, look a bit hurt, and tell Baekhyun “I dun' need none-body.”

“Y'don't miss having a mom?” Baekhyun would ask again, always too pushy, and then coax Minseok back on the swings.

“I never had a mom. An' if she did leave me, y'know Baekkie, pee-pul sometimes gotta leave fuh you to be better. Gotta, gotta be left to be better.”

Things like that made Baekhyun so mad that he'd hold the chains of the swing in place, immobilizing Minseok in front of him, and accuse him, “Like that, you wouldn't even be sad if I left you! Would y'even be able live like you used to if I left you?!”

He was just ten and had known Baekhyun for a handful of months, and still then he'd find himself crying with a worried and (awfully – for it was awful) smug boy by his side.

True to Baekhyun's words, Minseok could compare this tunnel to the underground train station from last year with those wagons that took Lu Han away in a gust of wind. Sunny yellow converses turned a dusty mustard; nothing felt quite right.

The reasons are currently different, but Minseok can swear that he just stepped into another dimension. Even stranger is the emptiness of the station -- it's in the outskirts of Downtown. He took the rare trip outside of their city corner to go to the university. He waited across the loading zone for Lu Han to work and they boarded the bus together, meeting up with Baekhyun, Jongdae, and later Yixing, whom they found at a music shop.

It's three in the morning and it has been an hour of waiting for a subway without a single soul appearing on the platform: the sleepy, grainy voice of the PA system announces delays from an accident. A casualty-free accident, God bless, Jongdae says as he toys with his wooden cross. God bless.

Minseok coughs in the meantime and gets up from the bench to stretch his legs. This station is old, ugly, and it looks so sad when it's left all alone. He's watching dust roll on the ground and listening to the big wall clock tick while Lu Han steadily approaches him to hug him from behind.

“What's going on in here?” Lu Han asks with a poke to Minseok's forehead. Minseok takes a moment to think through ambiguity, the words becoming true with the weight of Lu Han's chin on his shoulder, neck washed with his warm breath. It smells like Dutch Apple pop-tarts.

His words don't make much sense but Lu Han nods anyways. “Y'don't think it looks weird?” Minseok mumbles in the end.

“I mean the station's ugly, you're not wrong. But besides that, there's Yixing teaching Jongdae how to strum a guitar and Baekhyun trying to sing along, so doesn't it look, dunno, nostalgic instead of sad?” Lu Han says, sneaking his arms under the bomber jacket on Minseok's shoulders to fully wrap them around his slim waist. Minseok raises his eyebrows at this remark and turns his head to find Baekhyun trying to reach over to whack the pick out of Jongdae's hand. It's a funny image because the longer hairs at the back of his head swish with the movement. Like the Nike swoosh. He’s really going for the mullet.

Jongdae is fumbling with the guitar but Yixing is following him, kind and gentle. He presses down on the neck accordingly in Jongdae's stead, guiding him to strum some chords, and they play a steady tune. It fills the tunnel easily, an eerie echo following every note. It's a cheerful song. It makes Minseok believe that the others also feel sad from the station, 'cause if he’s the only one it's embarrassing.

Baekhyun decides to make a move and steals Jongdae, a sour look on his face that is missed by Yixing, who simply shrugs and goes back to his guitar. Accompanying the duo is a slow song for their waltz box step: soon enough, the one-two-threes of it become the twist, their feet quick in shuffling to match the crescendo of their owners' laughter. Minseok's neck prickles with the smile that's currently on Lu Han's lips, looking back into the crescents of Lu Han's eyes and searching for his own smile in their reflection.

“Oh, you need those uplifting songs,” Baekhyun once told Minseok in the bathroom. He had broken in to brush his teeth while Minseok was dazing off in the bathtub. “The rhythm and shit, it goes to the soul, buzzes with your heartbeat and goes into your toes so that the only way to get rid of it is by dancing. Need some music with soul for the soul, call them hymns like those at church because it right up messes with your heart. Need lyrics about getting over the tallest mountains and need to shout and cry and yell and twirl pretty things like you around.”

Baekhyun's no Chubby Checker, but the duffel bag slung around Jongdae's shoulder clinks and clanks with its metal cans like their own music; three pairs of feet shuffle on the tiles, Yixing's feet dancing on their own as he's sat on the bench; three voices are humming and laughing and Jongdae gets spun around three times in a row; Lu Han presses a soft kiss to Minseok's neck and in one-two-three seconds, has them both swaying, until Minseok starts to remember that there are only one-two-three-four-five boys in an underground tunnel, alone and hidden from sight. Minseok wishes, or hopes, that they can all stay together, only together forever, where forever just means a few moments that seem to drag on without a care.

“Maybe with'em it's less sad,” Minseok says after a while. “But th'tunnel's plain sombre without them.”

“I can change your mind.”

“No, you’re no Superman. Why're you hung up on it?”

“Because there's a worrying crease in your forehead and you look like you'll combust if you don't think any better, so I'll make it better. You wanna bet on it? Let's bet on a kiss that I can change your mind.” Lu Han laughs and starts to inch backwards, pulling Minseok with him. They stand behind a beam, the fresh paint sign hanging near Minseok's head.

Minseok snorts, channeling every grain of disdain he has for Lu Han. (It barely amounts to anything.) “You're fucking dumb, Han.”

“No, I'm not. I'll prove it.” Lu Han squeezes Minseok's waist tighter and lets a hand drift to gently hold his chin, his thumb digging into the groove and slightly pushing his bottom lip upwards. “Y'know, you got your heart set on a lot of sentimentality, but birdie likes the prettiest little things -- so I just have to give. It's a real special type of pretty. Some people think it's a simple way to view the world but it's much more, uhm, what's the word—” Lu Han pauses and mumbles a few words before he says, “Nuanced. 'Cause birdie, you're just like that. You're a funny canary.”

Lu Han lets go of his waist, his hand still on his chin, and spins Minseok around. Minseok idly notices that Baekhyun, Jongdae, and Yixing probably can't see their faces with the beam obstructing their view. Behind Lu Han is the opposite wall of the tunnel, the tiles bent in concavity and almost lost in the shadows. He's a single figure standing apart from darkness, the gentle crinkles by the corner of his eyes telling Minseok everything he has to know about pretty.

Stop being so naïve, Minseok, Kris once told him when he was seventeen. He was bandaging Minseok's face after a crash on the ice rink in Kris's backyard. Minseok told him to use the blue plasters because they work better. Kyungsoo told him so. And even if it wasn't real, Minseok told Kris, the blue ones still feel better, because it sounded so right from Kyungsoo's mouth, like law. Kris shook his head and put a plain one on to spite him.

Minseok doesn't think he's naïve. He just wants to have blind trust and blind love.

He inhales sharply when Lu Han's grabs the sides of his head, cooing at the glossed swell of his lips. He blinks at brilliance when the tunnel is completely illuminated by Lu Han's smile – and he wishes, hopes that this moment could properly be forever.

Like pictures. There isn’t anything that properly lasts forever, but pictures are about the only things that fake it and trick him.

They haven't even kissed yet and his perception already shifts.

Breathing in the station is the same as breathing in a picture. It's difficult to put into words; there are such things as thoughts, and things such as matters of the heart. You know, it's like when you stroke a finger on Lu Han's pictures. They have a subtle grain in them, a distortion of colour. You can't feel it when you touch it, the paper's just gloss. Real life can be like that too. Like dust hanging in the air except the particles don't float, they simply exist.

It doesn't need to be sad or not. It's just plain old, regular Special. It's old and run-down, dark and dusty, definitely otherworldly, defiantly empty without being lonely – it's Human and only Real by perception. It takes the human imaginary that goes into a single photo to look at the deserted station and acknowledge it as something good. It has all the love, all the affection, all the care that goes into Lu Han's boxes under his bed. It's just alive.

He has to think like the one-two-three of the waltz box step for that. One, his mind. Two, his heart. Three, Lu Han's mouth.

Lu Han bends down to capture his lips and taste sweet chemical cherry, and the ugly umber of the subway tiles is now a warm, earthy colour, like red dirt on a rainy day. Minseok kisses back with his hands clutching Lu Han's sweater, tiptoeing so that they slot against each other better.

They break apart with that sort of movie aesthetic since Minseok's eyes slowly flutter open and a whoosh of wind from the left side of the tunnel plays with Lu Han's soft hair. Baekhyun and Jongdae are still laughing, eye catching as they swerve dangerously close to the edge of the platform and then to the freshly painted beams. Minseok watches them for a while, glad that there's no strangers to look at those two idiots.

With a reticent smile, he repeats the part that there's one else but them.

There's a fresh wind in his veins at that, the gust lifting Minseok back to his feet to kiss Lu Han again, staying true to the bet. He thinks that Lu Han likes kissing him, because there's an agreeable hum at the back of his throat as his hands curl into the back of Minseok's head, swallowed by soft locks of ink, coaxing an even more agreeable sound from the back of Minseok's throat when he swipes his tongue against his lips. The kiss deepens and Minseok's feet are straining, but he's almost as in love with kissing Lu Han as he is with Lu Han himself. Couldn't have even thought of that last year, you know, that he could have this. Only dreamt so frequently that Lu Han appeared once his eyes closed, whether that be at school or on summer days on a motorbike.

It's all sweet, All is sweet all over. Like Dutch Apple pop-tarts. It's all good, All is good all over, even when they break apart.

Minseok realizes that he has stayed silent for a good handful of minutes when Lu Han asks, “A penny for your thoughts?” He shrugs, watching Lu Han trail a finger down to his heart, pressing against his chest through the bomber jacket. “Then, a nickel for what makes this beat?”

“Happy." Minseok quickly chirps back. To punctuate his point Jongdae has found the small tape player and a tape case in his duffle bag and presumably Yixing has chosen the uplifting Cantonese pop. It's quite similar to what Kris plays in the barbershop. Yixing tries to sing along and it makes Minseok's lips curl upwards to reveal pink gums and teeth.

Sometimes they just forget all the hard times that everyone goes through. Currently, there’s hard from not knowing if Baekhyun can make it to his second year of university in terms of money. Then again, maybe they learn to accept it and tell their feelings to move on. Kyungsoo was raised by a single mother who arrived by boat to new land with nothing but a baby, the man she’d eloped with having left her. He grew up in the dry cleaners she worked in, then helped raise Baekhyun in the very same place, then bid her goodbye as money pulled them apart further. Their reality’s just the status quo. It’s become so recurrent and natural it doesn’t matter, leaves stormy waves receding into mellowing, yellowing, sunshine-smiling contentment because Kyungsoo always tells them to make do, that there’s always something to like about anything.

That’s just enough to justify Minseok when he smiles, pink gums and all, and adds, “Real happy.”

“Ah, that's good.” Lu Han says. He plays with Minseok's hair and leans in so that their noses bump together. “Me too.”

“Mm.”

Minseok doesn’t trust what fluff-filled stupidity he might say so he settles for staring at Lu Han with a toothy smile, hands reaching up to Lu Han's neck to play with the metal beads that make up the chain of his father's dog tags. Lu Han gets them swaying again to the songs of the station, content with Minseok's silence, and bends down at times for quick kisses across his skin.

Baekhyun screams.

It could be good or bad because Baekhyun's natural decibel range is loud.

Now Jongdae's screaming.

Minseok peels himself away from Lu Han and looks out from behind the pillar. Baekhyun's sprawled on the ground, one shoe off, with Yixing next to him and rolling up his right pant leg. Jongdae's on his opposite side, crying out bilingual injuries towards something that Minseok can't really figure out yet. He hurries over to Baekhyun, Lu Han following his steps, and takes note of his swollen ankle.

“He slipped on Reagan.” Jongdae tells him.

“He slipped on what?”

“He slipped on that drasted Ronald Reagan!"

A rumpled newspaper is right beside Baekhyun with a muddy footprint. Reagan's face occupies half of the front page, even now carrying an air of being disliked with most of the skidding footprint massacring his lopsided smile and his Yukon Gold nose.

“I'm fucking dying up in here.”

“That's what y'get for being so reckless.” Minseok replies, throwing the newspaper away. He still pats his forehead and coos at him, but Baekhyun twitches away from him.

“I hope Gretzky fucking chokes on a chip and never makes it to the playoffs,” Baekhyun groans. Yixing tuts as he assesses the sprain, informing him that the Oilers just won 4-2 against the Los Angeles Kings yesterday and wishing that upon Gretzky might set up the Americans to win the Stanley Cup – not that anyone here feels a strong patriotic connection, but if they can't belong to Korea or China for having never breathed its air, they might as well pretend they belong here.

“Yixing, have you ever woken up and realized how much of a twat you are?”

Lu Han, who has just knelt by Minseok to watch the ordeal unfold, looks up and glares. “Baekhyun, shut the fuck up about Xing.”

“Yeah, Yixing-hyung's nothin' but nice.”

“Oh sure, just leave me to die _alone_ , Minseok, I get it.”

“You know w—”

_*The tracks have been cleared. The train will arrive in one minute.*_

Baekhyun sits up, pushing Minseok away and turning to Lu Han. “I want cadet to carry me.”

“The cadets didn't want Lu Han anymore, are you sure?” Jongdae asks.

“Just get me off this miserable ground!”

By the time the train arrives, Baekhyun's arms are looped around Minseok and Jongdae, wobbling his way towards the doors. Yixing picks up the duffel bag and shuts the tape player behind them, Lu Han taking the guitar in his hands. Baekhyun broods in the empty train, seated next to Jongdae and across from Minseok, refusing to meet Minseok’s eyes. Jongdae pets his hair, and only then does Baekhyun relax. Just the bit.

The sprain isn't too bad. It must've been the surprise that planted Baekhyun on the ground, for Ronald Raegan had once again committed injury to an honest citizen. Minseok still piggy-backs Baekhyun home, avoiding the gloomier, shadier streets, hauls him up the stairs, and settles him on the futon in the living room. Kyungsoo is leaving for work (it’s a pity that the restaurant is always open) and quickly checks on them, hurries his _I-love-you-both-equally-don't-fight_ 's, and is out before Minseok can say goodbye.

He’s wiggling out of his clothes and into his pyjamas when Baekhyun sighs, his shirt halfway on. "Do you need help?" Minseok asks, only to be ignored.

He crawls over to Baekhyun and sticks to his side, pretending to mind his own business and brushing his hair as he tries to figure him out. Baekhyun still looks away, deep in his thoughts. Minseok starts to make small braids into his hair and ties the ends off with blue hair-ties so that he'll wake up with black curls. It catches Baekhyun's eye, and by eye contact only they’re already engaged in the beginnings of a heart-to-heart sesh.

“I saw you kissing Han.” Baekhyun blurts out. The tone is accusatory, extremely unbecoming of him.

Minseok narrows his eyes and begins a new braid. “Didja now.”

“Minseok, don't you think that you're being too careless?”

Minseok’s hair-tie snaps back onto his fingers when he fumbles to tie off a braid. It leaves a terrible red mark. “Why're'you saying that?”

“You were in public.” Baekhyun tugs his shirt into place and kicks off his pants, throwing them across the room with his socks. He snaps the elastic band of his pyjama shorts when he puts them on. It leaves a terrible red mark, too.

“Baek, there wasn't anyone but you, Jongdae, and Yixing. It was safe. Yixing says, says that safety means y'can be free, so weren't I free?”

“I-- I don't know. I don't know. Just don't kiss him like that. It's only gonna hurt you. You're scaring me.”

“Baek-- you're scaring me right now!”

“ _You_ scare me! You worry me so much that I’ll start crying with a single thought! Since winter you've got in fights— t-the burn— I'm so scared. I'm so, I don't know what to do, Hyung scares me so much too, I can't do anything, I can't, I'm so tired, I'm so tired, Minseok.” Baekhyun’s voice raises with every word and he clenches his fists into the fabric of his pants. “You know, it's— it's— it's because of something people said, it's—I just forgot, I forgot how bad it was, I thought you were okay with your flowers and your nails and your dolls and hand holding and kisses, I can't tell if you still are, I just want someone to tell me that you'll be _fine_!”

Baekhyun throws himself down on the futon and buries his face into Minseok's waist, much like a child. He can feel tears wetting his shirt, and that scares Minseok more than what Baekhyun says. He strokes his hair with shaky hands and tries to compose himself because one teary boy is much, much better than two.

“… Now, what did they say?” Minseok softly asks, his voice surprisingly steady.

The gentle slope of Baekhyun’s nose digs into his hipbone. “Don't wanna say.”

“I know. But please.”

Baekhyun drags out a sigh and Minseok’s afraid that he’ll never tell him.

“…There was, there was an article about this guy on campus who got mugged and everyone knew it was 'cause word got out he was gay,” Baekhyun starts. Minseok gulps. “I was talking with the dude who wrote the article and I was like, 'that's such a shame, it's so sad', but he didn't really care. He just shrugged. I thought he'd say, 'it's a crying shame, it's terrible', but he didn't.” Baekhyun turns around to lay his head onto Minseok's thigh, reaching for the pair of fuzzy socks he took out to sleep with in the meantime, fidgeting with them.

“And I, I thought about some people I met at Jongdae's artist meetings. They said that they were walking in the cemetery to find a friend that passed away in the hospital from, y'know, AIDS, and saw that his name was taken off from the family grave. It's so obvious when a name is taken off. No one knows where his body ended up. They just died without someone paying them their respects. People have graves for unnamed soldiers and children and we put poppies and flowers for them; Minseokkie, there's real boys an' we know who they are and we won't even give them a named grave.”

Minseok bites his cheek and looks away, tears burning in his eyes, because he knows that too. How could he not, when it’s people who are dying? It used to be all over the radio, the news, the television; first as questions, back in 1981, then developing as a looming death toll. And in 1985, the more people die, the less people care. That's how it always is. It drops off the face of media at times and comes back again when editors and anchors feel like it. It becomes sensation then fact over a night. It can't even become like the obituaries Jongdae reads all the time because there are no mothers or fathers or even estranged cousins to pay the fee to remember.

Baekhyun pulls a sock on and watches his foot miserably, mindlessly thumbing the hem of his shorts. It’s even more worrying, and Minseok pulls the covers over Baekhyun's body because warmth, warmth feels like love and that's what Baekhyun really needs.

“God... That night I was kept awake by thoughts. Bad thoughts. Like, _bad bad_. Kept looking down at your sleeping face and God, Minseok, I don't think I've ever felt so much fear just by looking at you. Your eyes were closed and my heart twisted because they were _closed_. And I couldn't stop, you know how I can't stop.” He swallows thickly, his eyes reddening and glistening in the living room’s dim lights.

“Can’t stop thinking ever. It was just because –  because it's just that, that Minseok, Minseokkie, has anyone told you that you had an honest face? You walk with cotton candy pink on your cheeks whenever you're with _him_ even if it's outside and the world's watching like it's ready to drag you down.”

There are tears in Baekhyun’s eyes. They’re red and swollen and it pains Minseok to look at him.

“Minseok,” Baekhyun whimpers. “It keeps me— it keeps me up at night because you walk with your heart on your sleeve and I'm so scared; I think I'm scared because it feels like a prediction, I’m so scared that I'll fi-find you lying in an alley or your body tied to a truck on a country road, what’s left of you all _broken_.”

Baekhyun's eyes are glossy. He always says he refuses to let himself cry when Minseok’s around, but his tears still fall down his cheeks in fat drops. His face is flushed red and his ears are bright scarlet, lips close to bleeding with the way his teeth are biting them. It's unfair, Minseok thinks, it's so unfair that Baekhyun has to cry for him, it’s just so unfair that he wants to cry too – he won’t, he can’t, but he would. He swallows his tears and feels them burn into his throat.

Minseok can only pick up the pieces of Baekhyun's heart and glue them back together so that the cracks never show.

“Baek,” Minseok says softly. Baekhyun immediately looks up. “Y'know that you've got such a delicate face? Y'know, your cheeks feel like flower petals, your tears the glistenin' morning dew, and if I do this,” He cups Baekhyun's face, stroking the apples of his cheeks with his thumbs, and smiles gently. “Then I hold a bouquet in my hands. Your hands are delicate too. They're softer than cotton and babies and babies wearin’ cotton, did y’know that?

“So don't wear yourself with worry. Keep those hands soft so that it feels nice when I hold them.”

He bends down and kisses Baekhyun's cheek. They don't kiss a lot, except for those times Baekhyun finds alcohol and gets clingy or when they don't know how to cheer each other up. Chaste kisses. They're meant for family.

“We'll sleep together, okay? Wake up late because tomorrow's Saturday, right until sunshine’s th’one to wake us up. Finally close those tired eyes of yours,” Minseok whispers into his ear.

“Mmm,” Baekhyun sniffles, sighs, and tries to rekindle brightness into his own eyes. He takes the tissue Minseok offers him and wipes himself up. “You don't kiss me a lot.” His lips curl up at the sides when he says that.

“'Cause it's for special times.”

“Did Lu Han teach you that? Is that what he does behind my back? Steals your sadness away when I’m supposed to do that?”

“Mm'yeah.”

“God, what a cunning prick.”

"Noooo, don't say that about him," Minseok whines, batting away Baekhyun’s teasing hands that try to pinch his waist.

Baekhyun gets up and smiles, his eyes still red and his face blotchy, but absent of misery. "Oh poo, shut up." Despite that, he smiles again, wider, hobbling to the bookcase to find the record player and a record that Minseok’s half sure contains Japanese Funk from nineteen-seventy-who-cares.

"I'm sorry. I made us sad. So, can I heal both of us with this?" Baekhyun says, flipping the sleeve in his hands.

Angel babies like Baekhyun spread the word platonic thinly across his whole heart, trying to cover the insides of his veins and arteries so that his whole body can remember what his smile looks like, because they’re people you just wish could stay with you for life. And Lu Han might own every inch of Minseok, inside and out, might dig sweetly into his heart to fill it with mindlessly honest and pretty confessions, words, thoughts and kisses and emotion and himself too, but Minseok is made with the love of others.

And he does think that Baekhyun is almost made with everything Minseok has to give him.

“Mend our broken hearts, Baek.”

Baekhyun laughs with a genuine heart, his whole body bending with the weight of his laughter. He sets the record player next to them, gingerly placing the needle at the start of the vinyl, and slides back onto their bed.

"If I promise you that I won't get hurt, not ever _ever_ , will y’please tell me a story?” Minseok asks.

"Hm," Baekhyun looks up from shifting around under the comforter, taking a moment of silence to think. He looks at the dim light from the lamp of the room, discussing with the shadows and the yellow light, before he nods. He soaks in the song, searching for the heartstrings of his soul that need plucking.

"There's this girl. She's waiting in front of the railroad crossing, the red lights are flashing and the candy-striped barrier is descendin' to the bell chimes. It's a rainy evening. You know how lights reflect on wet pavement? It's as if she's in autumn, swarmed by the reddest and yellowest leaves. The street lamps are amber and the asphalt onyx, and believe me when I say that the moon turns raindrops into opals. She hears the train from the distance and it comes closer and closer, finally speeding past the rails in front of her. The rain patters on her umbrella, her plastic rain boots, her bag, and softly pitters on her skin. Black hair draped heavily on her face, eyes lazy while they wait for the train to pass. Crickets are chirping, even in this weather. You’d think the water would have gotten to them.”

"Where's she going?" Minseok flattens his head on his pillow, his braids fanning out from his head like rays of rye around a sun. Baekhyun reaches out and holds his hand under the sheets like they're ten again.

"Home."

"Is she?"

"Mmm. Her sister's come back. She smells like rain and four-o'clocks and yellow handmade soap." Baekhyun hums, probably remembering those times they’d pick up four-o’clock seeds that fall to the ground so generously from the bushes in front of the church to plant them on the rooftop. "Do you wanna know why her sister is so important?"

"Yeah," Minseok says, feeling himself distance away from the apartment to breathe in almost-rural suburbs and train tracks, the low synth kissing his skin and bass resonating every time it hits a bump on his body. Baekhyun’s voice is so soft like it's newborn, easing him into his new environment. "Please tell me."

The train runs past the train tracks and the wagons bid her goodbye. Her umbrella is bent forward, bright pink vinyl covering half her vision with thick water droplets drip-dripping from it, and she finally lifts it when the bell chimes again with the barrier raising up. "She ain't got no one in this world, no other, who would say they'd go to the moon and back for her."

She sees beyond her umbrella, and on the other side of the tracks is her sister.

Minseok smiles. Smiles wider. Smiles with his heart burning without a purpose, only with feeling. Grins. Laughs. Tells Baekhyun that, that Baek, Baek I'd go anywhere for you, all so that Baekhyun smiles like it's the way his face has always been and replies, "I'd go further."

Minseok has his ear pressed against Baekhyun's chest and can hear every breath, heartbeat, the small thrumming of life bustling in him, and the vibrations in his chest when he says, "Sometimes I wonder if God ripped you from a cloud and threw you on Earth so that you could find us," all while he strokes his thumb over Minseok's hand. Minseok shrugs. "Didja tell Han goodnight?"

"Forgot. He said, said t'take you home real soon."

"Hey, hey hey hey--" Baekhyun sits up and pulls Minseok with him. "Go call him right now. If you have to, wake him up just to say your goodnights and I love you's. You deserve that much."

Baekhyun pushes his butt up to make him stand and is about to push him towards the bathroom before he yanks Minseok's upper body down by his arms. He kisses his forehead and laughs, finally pleased with himself, before properly sending Minseok off to the bathroom and putting the tape away.

There are still stars in the sky and sorrow in his sighs, but Baekhyun’s eyes are heavy with sleep, relief in his arms as they wrap around Minseok’s stomach upon his return and even his heartbeat settles down, the ache subsiding too. Minseok finds sleep with him too.

They’ll be okay.

 

o.0.o

 

"Say praise."

"Praise."

"Say heaven."

"Heaven."

"Say praise, heaven, and glory above."

"Praise, heaven, an' glory above."

"Good."

This spring day has cold winds and a hot, yellow sun, with the air smelling like mud and farms and baby black sheep; by now the tree buds look more like leaves, and green grass starts to grow where winter and melting snow had destroyed it. Over there, by the highway overpass, the clouds hang darkly above in that funny way where the sun’s bright behind them, gushing out between them in rays that remind Minseok of stained glass windows in churches. Jongdae used to tell him that the sun’s rays between clouds was God reaching out to touch Minseok because he missed him. It’s very Easter-y, more like post-Easter-y with the current date. Still, he won’t hold it against the weather; if it wants to feel like spring and baby chicks, so be it.

Jongdae reaches over to tear off a bite of pretzel, still warm from the bakery. The white bag crinkles in Minseok's hands, reflecting brightly in the warm sun. To go with the weather, they’ve decided to go yellow: Minseok with his yellow nails, hair tied into a ponytail with a yellow elastic, and his yellow raincoat; Jongdae with his yellow tank top, embraing the coming of summer. Good spring Saturdays like this are meant for going out and dressing like the season itself. Minseok tears off some pretzel for himself and watches Jongdae's cupid bow of a smile stretch upwards.

"Say mercy." Jongdae says, voice soft with the undertones of a melody.

"Mercy." Minseok puffs out between two bites, mimicking Jongdae's tone.

"Say peace."

"Peace."

"Say there is mercy, there is peace, there is harmony in His arms."

"There’s mercy, there’s peace, there’s harmony ‘n His arms."

Jongdae goes for more pretzel, the parts with more salt cubes on them, popping them in his mouth while he watches Baekhyun trip on a crack in front of them. Lu Han catches him by his arm. They're four meters in front ("You two walk too slow!") and on the lookout for some more Eastern European confectionery shops. There's a good variety on Eastwood Boulevard, tiny little stores cramped with shelves of dry products at the front with meats and sausages and cheeses at the back, by now stocked with Easter sales, like chocolates and biscuits and butter. Minseok wants to buy some prayer candles with little lambs or whatever on them. Lu Han and Baekhyun keep jabbering about nonsense out front; Lu Han needs more friends, Minseok thinks, in the sense of the word 'friend' meaning a good person who does good to you.

His white Pumas glisten in the sunlight too, letting him walk on a road paved in sweet pink. He quite likes it, even more so when he reminds himself that Lu Han said that by walking in front, he was protecting Minseok from people like Vince.

"Hum for me," Jongdae tells Minseok. Minseok looks at him, puzzled. It makes Jongdae's lips carry a soft smile, like fluffy hotcakes in winter; he moves his hand to wipe at his own mouth, the movement causing his Saint’s bracelet to blind Minseok almost as much as that smile does. Jongdae’s contentment with life feels so universal, applying to everyone and anyone, contagious and fuzzy. Minseok hums for that smile, a tune that should be like sticky sweet syrup, because it's just that sort of day. He used to wish that he was born in Jongdae's big family and had him as a brother or cousin, but then he saw that Jongdae already treated him as such. "Good."

"Good?" Minseok repeats, cocking his head sideways. Jongdae nods casually and eats more pretzel.

"Say angels."

"Angels."

"Say wings."

"Wings."

"Say golden bells and red ribbons."

"Golden bells an' red ribbons."

"Laugh," he orders before quickly assaulting Minseok's ribs. Minseok doubles over with bubbles of giggles popping at his sides and his throat, laughing loud enough to attract Lu Han and Baekhyun's attention. "Laugh, come on you siss!"

He laughs and squirms until it's ten o'clock, which isn't much of a measure of time, but he laughs with the church bells ringing as they do on Saturdays.

"There you go," Jongdae brightly says when his hands return to his own person. "Bells. I think an angel just gained its wings with your help."

High, high above in the blue heavens, Minseok thinks so too. He’s breathless from laughing and shoves Jongdae as revenge, causing him to stumble sideways. “Hope the angel’ll do lots of good with their wings.”

“Of course; that’s what angels do. Unless they’re fallen. Like Baekhyun.”

“Thought y’liked that about him.”

“Oh, I suppose I do. Heaven must miss him.”

They walk past a flower shop, arrangements of bright red roses catching Jongdae’s attention. Flower shops are just nice, Minseok thinks, because they’re made for being nice. He wishes he could work in one instead of kitchens – he could wear a nice cloth apron with a pocket in the front to put clippers in, and wear a small flower by his ear. He’d spend his days arranging flowers and tying bows, or sitting at the counter with all the time in the world to daydream so that he could share it with Lu Han or Baekhyun. Maybe Lu Han could turn up and buy a bouquet, only to give it to Minseok, and it would be so nice to be with him with all those flowers around them, the whole shop being one big vial of perfume and their own private garden. If not, he could at least work in a bakery — with custard buns and pineapple breads, lotus cakes, egg custard tarts, and all sorts of things. He’d smell sweet, he thinks. And Lu Han could kiss him and say that, that Minseok tastes almost as sweet as bread, or even sweeter, to which Minseok would smack him in the chest and call him stupid — but really, Minseok really likes it when Lu Han says things like that.

"Say beauty." Jongdae starts when they decide to stop smelling roses. Minseok’s quick to follow him, thinking of beauty and letting it roll off his tongue.

"Beauty."

"Say peace."

"Peace."

"Say beauty, peace, and praise for life."

"Mm; beauty, peace, an' praise for life."

"Ah," Jongdae shivers as a cold wind passes and presses himself next to Minseok. He slings an arm around Jongdae's shoulder and acts as his coat. Jongdae hums for a bit and turns his head to face Minseok when he tells him, with a sly smile on his lips, "Say love."

"Love."

"Say love."

"Love?"

“Mm, say love, you love that word so much, so say Love.”

“L-love?”

Minseok’s breath catches in his throat the next moment because Lu Han turns around then, the sun behind him, doing that thing where there's a halo all around his body. “Say love,” Jongdae croons by his ear, chuckling when he never gets Minseok’s repetition. It’s such a soft white radiance. Lu Han’s glow must always be there and only made visible by sunshine, because Minseok feels it when Lu Han's body is pressed against his, feels it poured in his mouth and pushed into his skin, buzzing warmth from Lu Han's hands roaming and all of Lu Han gathered in Minseok's arms and between his legs tightly wound around Lu Han’s waist – or just feels it when Lu Han says hello. That's indicative of him being, him belonging, him breathing. He loves mornings when they start with his hello, the sun, his halo. “Say love,” Jongdae croons again, his lips brushing against his ear this time and sending sparks down Minseok’s spine. Lu Han waves at Minseok jokingly and Minseok returns it, dumbfounded, his fingers curling on themselves the more his cheeks become hot.

“ _Say his name_.”

“Lu Han—” Minseok blurts out, eyes blowing wide right after, and he smacks his hands to his mouth, flushing a bright ruby.

Wicked.

Jongdae is wicked.

Lu Han calls out Minseok's name then, and he runs towards him to escape Jongdae's teasing. Baekhyun still catches wind of it all and teases Minseok until Jongdae jogs to join him.

There’s a breeze that makes the bell of the bakery jingle when they’re in the shop, looking at the displays of baked goods and staining the glass with their fingerprints. Jongdae hums by Minseok, and such a hum feels calming. There’s something fuzzy to it, beauty, angels — if Minseok could pull out the threads of Jongdae’s voice he could weave heaven with it. They buy gingerbread men because Baekhyun likes snapping the arms and legs off before eating the head off, old school fairytale style.

“Aren’t the times good so far?” Minseok asks Lu Han after taking a gingerbread man in his hands, holding it by its arms and making it dangle in the air. “I’d say they’re real swell.”

“Better watch out when you say things like that,” Lu Han says, tucking the stray hairs that have fallen on Minseok’s face behind his ear. “You’re jinxing it. You can say you’re happy, but you can’t say things about the time, you silly goose.”

“I’m no goose, you dumbass, I’m a boy.”

“No, not a boy — you’re my birdie.”

Minseok scoffs and bites the gingerbread man’s head off. He can’t hate Lu Han after that, not when he casually leans in by his ear, whispering not so casually but all so enticingly that he can’t wait to kiss Minseok silly at home.

It turns out, however, that this little birdie has jinxed the universe.

Later that night, at exactly 10:37pm, the bathroom nightlight visible from Lu Han’s bedroom turns off. Minseok lifts his head off the pillow and opens his eyes to obscurity. The small whispers of light from behind the curtains are gone, and when he walks over to pull the then apart, he sees nothing through the window in the worst sense of the word.

“Shit,” He whispers. It’s all Lu Han needs to slowly stir awake, peeling the bed sheets off himself and failing to turn on the lamp beside him.

“ _Mmmmnnnfuck_. Come back t’bed.” Lu Han groans out. Minseok blindly finds his way back to the bed, pulled to Lu Han’s side and tucked under his arms. He can’t see any light from any street, any apartment, anything whatsoever. The curtains are still drawn open, Minseok hoping to see the streetlamps turn back on soon. “No good comes from blackouts,” Lu Han mumbles into his hair.

Beyond the windows stretches mires of black tar. A few minutes pass in dumbfounded silence until Kris enters the bedroom with extra blankets and a flashlight, just in case, and goes downstairs to the barbershop because he needs to make sure no one breaks in and steals shit. Apart from the cash register, Kris has hockey collectibles on display and those can rack up a lot at the pawn shop. They bid him good luck. Once the apartment door is shut and locked, silence returns to the apartment. Trying to ignore the foreboding scratching in his chest, Minseok tries to fall asleep again. He’s dozing off with his leg carelessly thrown over Lu Han's torso about ten minutes after the power went off.

And then there are gunshots.

And then there are _more_ gunshots.

Minseok gasps under the covers, eyes blown wide, and hides his face into Lu Han’s chest.

It’s more aggressive than what he heard last summer. There are yells. Windows are smashed. There are gunshots again. Someone passes under the bedroom window, three floors down, and yells in Cantonese. Must not — must not be with Old Lu, must be another gang. Another gunshot, louder, so loud that underneath all of these covers Minseok's ears sting and his whole body cries out. His hands raise to cover his ears, mirroring Lu Han. Their heartbeats are so loud he'd think it was someone hammering a wall.

He has no idea if the firefight will stop soon – it's the biggest one in a long time. If he recalls correctly, the last time it was so serious Lu Han was still in Vancouver, only hearing the bangs through Minseok's letters. Lu Han starts shaking, and Minseok doesn't know what else to do at that point than lead him into the kitchen to make him a warm cup of tea. They curl up on the sofa; people are still yelling. There are then three minutes of silence, he counts on the wall clock. Lu Han takes a few careful sips of his tea and strokes Minseok’s hair, trying to find remnants of peace.

There is another small burst of gunshots. They mingle with the blaring sirens. From the kitchen window, black gives way to blue and red and white. Minseok closes the curtains and lights a few candles, which could have looked romantic, except it isn’t. Lu Han reaches out for Minseok then, a blanket in his hands to wrap him into, and gathers him into his lap like he’s a stuffed toy.

There is fear in Lu Han.

There is fear dripping in his sweat that rolls off his temple, his chin, his neck. There is fear in his red eyes, those swollen eyes. There is fear on Minseok's waist, trembling from Lu Han's hands that grip him so tightly. There is fear in the paleness of his face, and especially when Minseok pulls back to face Lu Han, assessing the turbulence and engulfing him in his arms, Minseok can feel the fear that shatters Lu Han’s body. This time, there will be consequences for his brother, and there’s no way of telling how the repercussions will hit Lu Han.

Lu Han stares down at his tea mug on the coffee table, looking for a reflection that is ten times more resilient than his.

An hour later, the power returns. No one broke into Kris’s shop. Minseok leads Lu Han back to bed. Neither sleep.

 

o.0.o

 

Their fingers are stained black with ink as they hurriedly go through the bundle of newspapers Chanyeol brings in the morning, too afraid to step outside and assess the damages. Chanyeol slumps onto the sofa with Kris and they talk in the way real adults do – largely in disappointment and sighs.

Minseok and Lu Han finally reach what they want to find in the Chinatown newspaper's front page, local newspapers too preoccupied with the bursts of crimes throughout the whole city, the blackout having spread in the whole metropolis. Lu Han has to translate the big headline to him:

FOUR DEAD IN BLOODY GANG FEUD. SEVENTEEN ARRESTED.

Old Lu's candid mugshot, printed in black and white, finds itself crumpled in Lu Han's fist.

When Minseok waves Lu Han goodbye at work, the men in the warehouse are hot on the blackout. Even Sun's Dim Sum House's kitchens are unusually talkative. Minseok can't keep up with the Cantonese flying out of the men's mouths despite his time in the Cantonese group home, but the few bits of English used for the cooks out of the loop tell him enough. Apart from the shops on Finch they passed by, the ones in the backstreets and St Catherine were vandalized too; merchandise was stolen, there were even stabbings which injured seven. Numerous homes were broken into and even the _Church_ was ransacked. Who does that? Minseok hopes that they didn’t do away with the funds for Taiwan. Most are glad that the gang feuds haven’t found their way onto mainstream media.

Lu Han's brother becomes a taboo subject, and even Lu Han himself joins the list for Kyungsoo. Minseok feels bad for Kyungsoo – he was worried sick last night, despite Minseok calling him to tell him that no one molested him or something. When they finish their shift, Kyungsoo tells him to spend all his nights here rather than spend half in grey tartan sheets. He won't say why. Kyungsoo is a man of subtlety, only straightforward in his decisions. Even if he doesn't agree, Minseok decides to cut down on the sleepovers.

Three days later finds Minseok running to the loading zone with a plastic bag of leftover baos, the chāsīu ones that are still warm on the outside and piping hot on the inside with the softest steamed bread, to share with Lu Han despite Kyungsoo’s better intentions. There's two minutes left to Lu Han’s shift once Minseok turns the corner to Preston Street, one minute when his eyes find Lu Han's, and zero when he's met with an impressive smile. Chanyeol, hair tussled, clothes damp with his sweat, dark circles under his eyes but otherwise cheerful, waves them goodbye and Minseok strangely reciprocates the action with more pep than he expected.

Old Lu was detained for a few months when Lu Han was seventeen. Compared to that time, Lu Han's gotten over it pretty quickly. Blood can't mean too much; what would that make Minseok if it did? Men who threaten to shoot you aren't real brothers. If you know better, then you have to do better. This silly emancipation from broken brotherhood comes in the form of Lu Han pulling on the strings that dangle off the hood of Minseok's raincoat, cackling when Minseok swats him away.

"Feelin' good?" Minseok asks.

"Feeling good."

"Heart high?"

"Sky high."

"Really?"

"Yeah, birdie. Higher than the Rockies. You should fly up and meet me there.”

The mountains out west are too far for Minseok’s minuscule hold on the world, so he settles on reaching up to flatten the stray strands of Lu Han’s soft hair. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Lu Han also says, abandoning the raincoat to sling an arm around Minseok’s shoulder to steer him around Chinatown. There’s a small courtyard sandwiched between the cluster of apartment buildings Junmyeon and Sehun live in, quiet and isolated with benches and some greenery that kindly accommodates them for their snack.

“That must be Junmyeon-hyung,” Minseok says as he points up to the cigarette smoke drifting out of a window. It looks like the right place for his apartment. “Wonder what types of worries he’s smokin’ away.”

“Sehun?”

“He’s doin’ good in math. I do a good job, you know. Sehunnie says they’re like peas in a pod now, he tells his hyung e’rrything. They even play catch on Saturdays. But his chest got bruised ‘cause Junmyeon-hyung throws too good, and he cried ‘cause he hit Sehunnie, he told me that on Monday. They’re doing good in money too, ‘cause now Junmyeon gives me three dollars more for tutorin’ Sehunnie.”

“Huh. I think his mom got a promotion lately – maybe he’s having a relief smoke. Or it’s just another worry.”

They watch the smoke twist in the wind.

“People are so worried all the time,” Lu Han muses while he picks the white bread off his bao. “And then their worries worry other people.”

“Would y’let your worries do that?” Minseok asks, not in a serious way. He doesn’t mean for the puzzled expression on Lu Han’s face to surface.

Lu Han looks down to his bao. That’s one worry for Minseok, the way his eyes are downcast and the gloomy shadow that settles on his face. “I wouldn’t want them to. If I were worried, then would that worry you?”

“Yeah,” Minseok says, frowning. “It’s just the inevitable.”

“Even if it is, don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be worried for me.”

There’s something very particular about this moment. Maybe it’s the way the sky is slowly turning mustard yellow, predicting a storm, the subtle shadows it produces, the cold wind that’s slowly building up, or the way the trees and plants around them shake with the gale. Minseok can’t tear his eyes off the way Lu Han’s black hair stands out but melts into their surroundings, the way his brown eyes look muddy.

“But I can’t,” Minseok tells Lu Han with a soft voice, the image of Lu Han vulnerable swirling in his own pupils and burning into his mind. “You know I can’t.”

The image breaks off quickly when Lu Han sighs and leans in to take a bite out of Minseok’s bao. “Of course you can’t. Birds are stubborn little things."

“Lu-ge,” Minseok can’t help but try and reel Lu Han back in, try to pour out everything he wants to say. “Lu-ge, I’ll worry and I’ll cry but that’s because I can’t look away, y’know, you’re the big sun in the sky and I can’t ignore that.” Lu Han’s gloomy shadow recedes to something bittersweet, leaving Minseok to wonder what the bitterness was. Lu Han’s big old hand cups his cheek gently, his thumb swiping under his eye, and sighs again, this time with less weight to it.

“I wouldn’t want you to cry.”

“Then I’ll only cry a little.”

“I guess that’s fair. I’d drown a planet for you.” Lu Han smiles and pinches Minseok’s cheek, his mood changing too quickly for Minseok to comprehend. He’s a rogue wind, that boy. Minseok just watches the way he bursts through the plains, the fields, the forests, until he comes back down to tussle Minseok up, both rough and gentle.

Rain starts to fall, first by small drops, then a torrent; Junmyeon’s window slams closed, the lingering smoke only a memory. The raindrops slide down the side of Lu Han’s head and melt into his pink cheeks, follow the curves that his smile etches on his face, and worries — Minseok might as well forget that worry is a word as well as woes — fall to the ground in the puddles, gone.

“Come on,” Lu Han tugs Minseok up from the bench and laces their fingers together. “Standing in the rain like this makes me think too much about your tears.”

“M’kay.”

Minseok and Lu Han allow themselves to hold hands as they run to Kris’s barbershop. They’re not so soaked when they take their coats off after entering the back door, hanging them in the small entry before taking the stairs to the door of the apartment. Minseok’s skin is cold and Lu Han’s too, both chilled to their bones, but that’s fine. That’s no trouble. That can be fixed.

Minseok heads for the kitchen to brew some tea while Lu Han goes to his bedroom to change his socks. If he strains his ears he can hear the faint music playing from Kris’s barbershop below their feet. Most customers are old men and Kris indulges them in his choice of music.

"Han, d'you want some milk? Your opinion on milk always changes." He stirs some into his own cup, along with sugar. Lu Han's black tea waits for a response it never gets. "Hannie? Lu-ge?"

He climbs the second set of stairs. When Minseok stands in the doorway to the bedroom, he can hear his heart sink to the ground, the floors, the plumbing and wires, until it's six foot under.

It's a mess. It's never a mess. Minseok _hates_ messes, and Lu Han doesn't mind cleaning up.

Lu Han is standing by his desk, his back to Minseok with his head hanging low. His bedsheets are untucked, the drawers of the nightstand and desk pulled out, contents strewn all over the room, pencils and paintbrushes on the floor, and his wardrobe looks as if a tornado introduced itself into it. Minseok tears his eyes off the horrific mess and guides them towards Lu Han, standing at his desk where his Polaroid camera and Sony Mavica are laid out. A cyclone of pictures surrounds Lu Han. The boxes from under the bed have been turned over across the floor, their whole life together spilled everywhere. Next to those cameras, Minseok notices as he slowly approaches, is the old mooncake box from 1982. They kept it because Minseok told Kris that throwing the box out would be like murdering the cute white rabbits on it. The lid is somewhere in the bedroom – it creeps inside of Minseok, starting from the nerves in his stomach, the recognition that the catastrophe that hit the room must've been initiated by the box.

Lu Han's parents came to check on their second unruly son, Minseok realises. There couldn't have been another reason. God knows what their youngest was up to when the eldest landed in prison. It's weird how his parents still try to care, but they don't at the same time. It’s unfortunate that the golden tin box was laid out in the open right then.

Minseok hurries next to Lu Han and pauses as he reaches out to him, his eyes locking onto the polaroid on the desk that’s usually tacked to the wall.

_799: spring, morning._

The mooncake box is for the pictures Lu Han takes of him, only him, whether Minseok’s simply in the boxing ring with Baekhyun's comic book in his hands or looks flushed in the middle of grey tartan: usually at that point _after_ , when he’s slipping into sleep, to dreams, his own fingers drowsily tracing the purpling lovebites that dot his skin like petals. He knows that polaroid 799 is Lu Han's favourite, labelled with blue ink from the fountain pen Kris bought Lu Han for his twentieth birthday, because it carries a real feeling. A naked Minseok sleeping with warm and gentle sunlight swallowing half of his body and kissing it with warmth, just a dumb old picture but to Lu Han it’s more. It was peace, Lu Han said, You were in so much peace and the world became quiet to make peace for you, felt peace just by looking at you, felt peace just by loving you, you know?

Lu Han silently pockets the picture and goes to find the tin lid of the box.

"Lu-ge," Minseok starts to gather the scattered pictures on the ground as he follows Lu Han. "Lu-ge--"

He comes up close to Lu Han to pry the lid from his shaking hands. Lu Han turns to him with sad eyes, barely managing to say, "Minseok, don't say a word. Please. Just help me clean up if you want. You can always drink your tea and watch something. Please."

Minseok cleans up the bedroom with the empty shell of his boyfriend, not knowing what to do.

They'll be okay, Minseok lies.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo guys i am splitting the chap,,,,, stay tuned for luhans pweepwee in some number of days
> 
> the rockies are big ass mountain chain that goes into the US for u,, american kids out there tonight,,, connection
> 
> if you've noticed a sudden improvement in verb tenses you have the lovely jangjaeyul to thank!!! they have done over 1000 insertions because i cannot tell the past from the present, pls give a round of applause <3 check out their stories too cause they're amazing!!!!
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sticking around!!!


	7. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minseok and Lu Han realize that they will be okay.

  

1985, late spring. There's no more snow on the ground, the grass instead carpeted by abundant growths of dandelions. The Stanley Cup playoffs are nearing to the finals with the Edmonton Oilers in good standing, facing the Chicago Black Hawks. Baekhyun and Jongdae finish their exams and try to watch all of the movies playing in theatres in two days.

 

 

“How far would you go?” Baekhyun once asked Minseok when they were sixteen, both in the grocery cart in an empty parking lot. “For someone, I mean.”

“… Far?” Minseok replied, furrowing his eyebrows. He remembers that it was autumn and they were both bundled up in scarves that Kyungsoo wrapped them with. The blue sky seemed emptier and bigger than usual and the ground was carpeted in leaves, some stuck in the grid of the cart. “I’d go far for you or Hyung.”

“No, not me or Hyung, I meant someone else. Like a girl… thingie.” Baekhyun finished picking the dead leaves from the grating of the cart and offered them as a bouquet to Minseok. “How far would you go?”

Minseok blushed at the last part, pretending to ignore it, but still answered. “Um, still far? If I like ‘em plenty, thas’ far.”

“What constitutes as far?”

“I dunno. It means lots. A lot of heart for anythin’.” Minseok shrugged and lifted his arm to grab a red leaf twirling in the wind and added it to the bouquet. He opened his mouth to say You just do a lot for them and just about anything, but was stopped by the sight of Lu Han walking in the distance. Baekhyun closed Minseok’s mouth and glared.

“How far will you go?” Baekhyun asked again.

“Baekkie,” Minseok squirmed in the cart, trying to get up. “I-I need t’go. I forgot to tell Lu Han somethin’ yesterday after school.”

“I said,” Baekhyun tried to hold Minseok back when he climbed out of the cart, but his two feet still made it on the ground. “How far will you go!”

“I’ll be back!”

“You’d go the length of a fucking parking lot, huh, you think you’re funny!?”

Minseok remembers looking back at Baekhyun, looking tiny in the grocery cart, and feeling time stop for five seconds. He almost tripped on his shoelaces but found Lu Han at the end of five. He doesn’t remember what he wanted to tell Lu Han, or if he ever had something to tell him; he, most probably, ran over to Lu Han on a whim. He doesn’t even remember what they talked about, up until Lu Han plucked the reddest leaf from the bouquet and put it in Minseok’s left braid.

“Further than a parkin’ lot,” Minseok said. Lu Han looked at him with his typical confusion-crossing-endearment and never asked for an explanation.

“How far?” Lu Han asked instead, tugging on the braid.

“Real, real, real far.”

“Wow. That’s far.” Lu Han raised his eyebrows and his eyes popped wide; Minseok always thought he looked like the fish swimming in the tanks of the groceries when he did that. “How will you get all the way there?”

“I dunno. Somehow.”

“I think you’ll make it.”

“I really, really hope I do.”

 

Minseok still holds to that. He would do everything, and if that’s impossible then he’d do just about anything.

The first night, Minseok cradles Lu Han's head and tries to collect all his tears to string them for a pearl necklace, wear Lu Han's pain around his neck and show that his tears can become Lu Han's too. Lu Han's eyes shine the way the moon does on a turbulent ocean, you know, all tears and anger and sorrow roaring so loudly he can’t hear Minseok lean in to say that, that— oh, he doesn’t know what to say, but every word is a whisper that’s meant to reassure his heart, they truly are, but they never make it to Lu Han. Minseok wants to go further than far until it breaks him, until he can make Lu Han stop crying. He cups Lu Han’s red tear-streaked cheeks and tells himself that Lu Han can't be left alone; but then again, Minseok himself is the root of all problems. Minseok is the cause to the biggest letdown Lu Han has become. The ocean spray covers his hands and he can only faintly see Lu Han by the milk light of the moon.

The first morning, Minseok kisses Lu Han: by his swollen eyes, by his cheeks, by his chin, by his forehead, by the corner of his lips, then on his lips. He tries to take some of that blue that stains Lu Han's soul; he’d pick all the violets in three acres, six acres, or even twenty acres if that’s what it’d take. When he takes Lu Han to work, he leaves him in Chanyeol’s (big) hands.

The second morning, while the midnight blue sheets fade into the darkness and the alarm clocks reads three, Minseok’s eyes open to Lu Han sitting up next to him. The soft orange from the bathroom night-light is just enough for Minseok to discern the sadness on Lu Han’s face, his eyes on Minseok the whole time.

“Why’re y’starin’?” Minseok whispers.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Hannie.”

“What?”

Minseok extends his hand out, brushing against the back of Lu Han’s hand. “I’m not a baby,” Lu Han whispers, but his fingers still stroke over Minseok’s, considering it.

“Please.” Minseok whispers back. He can see a faint change in Lu Han’s expression, turning into something softer. He’s still the one to wrap his fingers around Lu Han’s, trying to give all his love and pour it into the cracks of his skin. Minseok doesn’t know if it works, if he can reach over across the mountains and valleys that separate the world from Lu Han; but the third morning, and the fourth morning too, when Minseok’s eyes sleepily pull open, Lu Han’s still beside him and his hand is still in Minseok’s hold. He can’t help but wonder if Lu Han doesn’t sleep.

Time passes by regardless of tragedy, and the sadness on Lu Han’s face never leaves. Minseok cleans up the room better so that Lu Han doesn’t get hurt in case he sleepwalks. That’s all he knows to do. Kyungsoo tells Minseok that it’s okay not to know; he’s only nineteen, he’s only just stopped being a child, it’s okay. But that won’t make things better.

By the fourth afternoon, Minseok and Yixing are hanging around the restaurant’s parking lot after work. He’s sitting on a cracked concrete parking stop while Yixing wipes some mud off his motorbike. Minseok picks at the sleeves of his cream Star Wars t-shirt and his thighs poking out from his black, high waisted shorts (the high waist was meant for keeping your life together, Baekhyun said) while he wonders if bringing up Lu Han is worth it. He ends up staring at his jelly sandals instead, his bottom lip feeling like jelly when he thinks of Lu Han.

“Come on, Minseokkie, I know you wanna ask about Lu Han. Don’t be that shy.” Yixing stuffs his cloth into his pocket and turns to Minseok, hands on his hips.

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Your eyes say a whole lot.”

Minseok narrows those eyes at Yixing before looking away, resting his chin on his hands and staring at the staples on the telephone pole. Yixing steps in front of Minseok and tuts, crouching in front of him and smiling. He’s so considerate, Minseok thinks, from head to toe he’s all sympathy or empathy, he doesn’t actually know the difference. Yixing is like an anchor to Lu Han. He’s hardy steel that never sways with the current, always kind, always smiling. That makes Kris seaweed on the chains, Minseok supposes. The interpretation is up for grabs.

“… How’s Lu Han when he’s with you?” Minseok asks. Yixing’s tried to cheer Lu Han up over the past few days, sometimes catching him at the end of a phone call with his parents. “Does he just say nothin’ and mope around?”

Yixing scrunches his nose. “Yeah. That’s how I’d describe it.”

“Wonder what he’s thinkin’ about.”

“Dunno… Maybe if he should stay or go. I wish he’ll stay. There’s a whole life for him here, you know? So, I wish he’ll stay.”

“Yixing,” Minseok bites the insides of his cheeks and shuffles his feet on the ground. “What’s gonna happen to Lu Han?”

“I… don’t know. I don’t know, Minseokkie. He could get disowned for all I know, he could be forced to leave, or he could have the choice to stay here with us.”

“He has to stay.”

“There's no _has_ to or _must_ , Minseokkie, even if we wish it was the case too. We’re talking about his parents, after all.”

“I’ll cry,” Minseok tells Yixing. “I’ll cry so much that he can’t go. Won’t go. Tell him, tell him don’t go.”

He picks at the buckle straps of his shoes while Yixing sighs, sitting next to Minseok. He reaches to lean Minseok’s head against his shoulder and sighs again. “It’s a matter of hope.”

“Yixing,” Minseok says, unbuckling his shoes only to re-buckle them, unbuckle, re-buckle, repeat. His vision blurs over, but that doesn’t mean he’s crying. It’s only called crying when he’s sobbing his heart out, or something like that. Tears aren’t crying. “I don’t wanna hope. I wanna _know_. Y’know his father’s never been good, and after Vietnam, y’know… that doesn’t add good t’him. Lu Han can’t go back home, what’ll happen t’him?” Minseok asks what’ll happen because he’s being silly. Minseok knows exactly what’ll happen. It’s very silly to not know what would await Lu Han if he had to come back to his parents’ home.

He’s also being silly because he wants Yixing to say that nothing would happen to Lu Han. Yixing doesn’t say anything, however. Instead, he takes in a deep breath and looks in Minseok’s eyes, something like hope in his eyes. Optimism? Minseok’s not sure.

“Only Lu Han knows that. We can just be there for him, that’s all. I was going to buy him cake.”

“Cake?”

“Pineapple cake. From the buffet across town, you know, the neighbourhood near city hall? I don’t remember the name, but it has Dragon in it. We went there for his birthday – we wanted to bring you some food back since you were working, but everything tasted really good so we couldn’t, and I was really sorry.” Yixing takes some strands of Minseok’s hair and starts to loop them around his fingers, watching the strands shine in the light.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“He really liked it. So, I thought, why not cheer him up? And bring Minseokkie too. Our very lovely, very own, Min-seok-kie.” Yixing laughs when he sing-songs the last part and pinches Minseok’s cheeks like they’re toffee. “Lu Han will be happy.”

“He will?”

“He will.” Yixing smiles, that maybe-optimism becoming infectious. “Are you down for a drive?” Minseok nods and gets up, tucking his t-shirt back into his shorts. “You look twelve with that outfit.”

“Then we should take th'bus,” Minseok replies once he’s settled on the back of Yixing's motorbike. “Cause I'd go on for free.”

“I don’t like the bus. It’s too crowded and people end up breathing on my neck.”

“Then don’t say I look twelve.”

“But you do. Tie your hair, we're going.” Yixing swings a leg over his seat, leather pants briefly catching the sun, and he hands his leather jacket over to Minseok. His arms and shoulders are bare, only a white tank top covering the rest of his torso. Minseok’s legs are almost bare. Better be half safe than not safe at all. He taps his jelly shoes together before properly sitting on the bike, liking the dry sound of plastic knocking plastic and the prospect of making Lu Han happy, as well as cake.

Such nice shoes.

Kyungsoo bought the yellow jelly shoes of his own volition a couple of days ago, but the weather wasn’t nice enough to take them out until today. Jelly shoes were a great investment: they were cheap, they were available at the Liang’s convenience store amongst others in Chinatown, including Dongwoo’s newspaper shop where Minseok first saw them, and they were comfortable. Girls like Hee-yeon, whom he was close to in high school because they’d let him dip his finger into their pot-o-gloss and play with his hair, were already swept up by the jelly shoe craze when it came to the city. You just don’t have to sweat, Hee-yeon told him. Kyungsoo bent down and slipped them onto his feet before he left the apartment, telling him to cheer up. Look up. Take care. That’s what pleases Minseok the most.

He taps his feet against the bike while they wait at traffic lights. He’d like to show them to Lu Han – if Lu Han would want to see hi— them. Lu Han used to—thinks that Minseok has cute feet. Maybe his jelly shoes can crack a small smile on his face.

drive past the nicer parts of the city, by the downtown riches and big trees, public parks with monuments, big shopping centres and French restaurants, skyscrapers with windows stretching to the 45th floor and women wearing furs and silks and real jewels, men in suits with new leather briefcases and polished shoes, Cadillac convertibles driving next to them with their roofs drawn down, and families with small children in boater hats and babies in strollers pushed by underpaid, overworked, passport-has-been-taken-hostage nannies. Yixing’s motorbike is loud and yellow, his leather on his legs and Minseok’s shoulders is old and worn, and with all of these obviously-not-from-here vibes he also has a boy wearing yellow jelly shoes holding onto him. They shouldn’t be here. Or maybe Minseok should stop caring.

In a grand establishment of yellows, reds, paper lanterns, ceramic tiles roofs and a big dragon mosaic, stands the buffet. It must be very lucrative when there’s no other competition around. No wonder the exterior looks so luxurious.

Yixing parks his motorcycle near the entrance, parallel with the two parking lines which bracket it. The asphalt is uneven and after he gets off the bike, Minseok trips and smashes his head against the car to the right of them. Yixing bends down and wipes the snot and tears off him with a tissue.

  
“Did you leave a dent?” Yixing jokes as he picks Minseok up. Minseok scowls and peels the pebbles off his knees. The skin is left all scraped. “Oh gosh, I’ll have to take care of those knees before Kyungsoo sees them.”

“It’s fine.” Minseok shrugs Yixing’s hands off and starts walking towards the buffet. He’s never seen anything on this scale: the building is huge and the seating area is bigger than most rooms in the community centre. The carpet is red and patterned with gold, the wallpaper resembling velvet. People look at them funnily when they enter and look around with wide eyes. It’s of an opulence that makes him uncomfortable. Nowhere in Chinatown would you find an establishment like this. It’s all cracked tiles and cracked walls back home, a mix and match of east Asia sold at discount prices. The buffet even sells its more popular bakery items separately, namely egg rolls and the pineapple cake. Fortunately, the prices aren’t bad and the packaging is very nice.

Yixing swings the gift bag as they exit the buffet with a skip in his step. The half inch heels of his shoes click and clack while Minseok’s shoes squeak a bit once they reach the polished tiles of the steps. Goodbye, Minseok thinks, he’s unlikely to ever return. He finds a clementine in Yixing’s leather jacket and starts peeling it, some juice spurting out and landing on Yixing’s face. Yixing playfully pushes him as payback and smudges the juice on Minseok’s temple, some foundation that covers his fading scar coming off.

“Sorry about that. Ah, Minseok, your forehead is red,” Yixing notices as they walk to the motorcycle. “Come closer. I think it’s bleeding a bit. That car did you some bad work. Oh gosh, do you have a concussion?”

They stumble a bit as Yixing holds Minseok’s head and thumbs around the bump on his head. They don’t even see the owner of the car next to the motorcycle fuming by his back fender.

“You—are you the owner of the motorcycle?” They hear a voice boom.

Minseok and Yixing stop at the right end of the car Minseok smashed into. There’s a tall, stocky man who’s absolutely red in the face and clenching his teeth as he talks, and a portly woman with the greenest eyes Minseok has ever seen next to him. He can feel himself shrink behind Yixing, and Yixing shrink behind him.

“Y-yes,” Yixing stutters out. “W-why, sir?”

“What the fuck did you do to my car!”

Yixing and Minseok exchange panicked looks before approaching the back fender. There’s a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny, little dent, in Minseok’s opinion, and a smudge of cheap foundation. Whoa. His head is a lot harder than he thought. “Was this you? This car is new!”

It’s such a small dent, Minseok keeps thinking, it’s so small, what does it matter? No one will ever bend down to look at the tiny little dent.

“Honey, this isn’t worth it,” the woman tells the man. She puts her hand on his shoulder, but it doesn’t stop him.

“Do you understand me? Do you even speak English?” the man booms. Yixing and Minseok gulp, not knowing what to say. “Answer me when I talk to you!”

“Honey!”

“They’re going to lie – I know it – damn Chinese kids.” The man huffs out again. He approaches Minseok in large strides and stops, towering over him, then makes a sharp move to grab his jaw. Minseok dodges his hand quickly and scowls, standing straight in front of the man and looking straight into his eyes. Yixing tugs his arm in panic but Minseok won’t budge.

The man is big. His hands are huge and hairy and if he put his mind to it he could rip Minseok in half. Minseok doesn’t let his gaze falter, but his mind does.

Kyungsoo once told Minseok to choose his battles, and in a split second he decides to fight another day.

From this point, he isn’t Minseok. He’s a young, innocent, sickly FOB who grew up in caricatural rural China and came over here to escape poverty and, um, Communism with his older brother.

Minseok quickly looks at Yixing, their eye contact fizzing neurons. This is it. This is the first time Minseok has felt so in sync with someone, and by God is he going to channel every last bit of bullshitting in him to Yixing and _run_ with the result.

He gasps in a breath, his scraped knees buckling under him, blows his eyes impossibly wide as if they’re going to pop out, and throws himself to the ground. He collapses on the asphalt, limbs sprawling, gaze upwards and vacant until (to Yixing exclaiming the name of his fake Chinese brother, _Xiumin!_ ) he closes his eyes with a shudder.

“Oh my God!” He hears the portly woman exclaim. Minseok still has his clementine in his hand, and seizing the attention he has, bounces his left palm upwards – really the slightest of movements – and makes it roll out of his hold. That’s the definite step to collapsing. Yixing is next to him in seconds, shaking him and wailing, and by what he can hear they’re doing a damn good job of looking like a renaissance painting.

“Please,” Yixing calls out before remembering his role. “P- _prease_. I need—I need to get him home.”

Someone approaches them – they smell like cheap perfume, so he assumes it’s the woman. Her hands are soft but feel a bit sticky, as if she put on foundation or sprayed perfume on them (which are both ridiculous, but maybe she’s that type of person). Her rings are cold on his skin as she helps to lift him into Yixing's arms. “Shouldn't we get an ambulance for your brother? How old is he, sweetheart?”

Go for gold, Minseok tries to telepathically tell Yixing, hit the fucking lottery.

“He twelve.”

Jackpot.

“He ver- _velly_ sick. I take him home. Ambulance too expensive—”

“Darling, are you sur--”

The husband cuts them both off then, quite angry. Yixing hurries to carry Minseok to the motorbike, bridal style, the hand on his back low enough to let his head and arms dangle in the open: a man carrying the body of a martyr. He gently drapes Minseok over the leather and caresses his cheek before leaving to settle matters with the couple. Minseok risks opening his eyes just the slightest bit: the man is still livid, red as a tomato and yelling, but the woman – her face strikes him as kind, shaped like a moon with a crescent smile – succeeds in de-escalating the situation. She refuses the ten-dollar bill Yixing offers in apology, chastises her husband for “being so rude to the poor Chinese boys who don’t know any better”, and even gives Yixing _fifteen_ dollars, or rather pushes it into his reluctant hands.

Feeling bad, he pretends to regain some form of consciousness when Yixing comes back to him. He’s made to sit on his lap, arms looped around his neck, only staying on the seat by sheer willpower.

“Buckle up, buckaroo,” Yixing quietly tells him. Minseok grips his neck tighter. “Thank you for everything, miss.”

“Please be careful!”

Probably one of the most handsome men in the neighbourhood, Yixing flashes her a killer smile, dimples and pearly teeth all, and is gone with the wind. He’ll remain as an important memory to her, black hair tousled in the wind and dark eyes glimmering.

They both let out the biggest sigh of relief at the red light. Minseok quickly takes his seat behind Yixing.

“So,” Minseok says through the rumble of the motors.

“We’re not dead. And we have pineapple cake.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I thought he was going to call the police on us or something, that wouldn’t have ended nicely.”

“I thought he was gonna pull a gun outta his car ’n kill us.”

“Could’ve happened. Hey, Minseokkie.”

“What?”

“He had a sticker that said ‘Korean War Veteran’ on his bumper.”

Minseok laughs until he thinks he’s going to throw up his guts on the cars speeding next to them.

They drive until they reach smaller houses and old brick apartment buildings, concrete apartment buildings, storefronts written in Chinese and sometimes Vietnamese, Japanese, and the odd Korean. Minseok rests his head on Yixing’s back, watching the scenery flash by when his eyes aren’t closed from the wind. The fifteen dollars are in Yixing’s back pocket. The ends poke out and are flimsy in the wind; it’s funny to watch. They pull over in the parking lot of Yixing’s apartment building and Minseok takes the opportunity to take the two bills out.

He holds a stranger’s kindness in his hands. It still smells like cheap perfume. The paper’s a bit brittle, passed from hand to hand to wallet to cash register, but soft when he rubs it between his fingers. He holds the two bills against the yellow of Yixing’s motorcycle, the purple and the blue standing out, and feels that it’s the right colour for kindness. “Why’s she given us fifteen whole dollars, Yixing?” Minseok asks. When lifted to the sun, the paper’s a bit translucent. “You could buy some groceries with fifteen dollars. Why’s she given it t’two kids who conned their way outta fight? ’N why’s her husband like that if she’s so kind?”

Yixing shrugs. “People end up in funny places sometimes.”

“Hm.”

Minseok wonders if she’d still give them the money if she knew what type of person Minseok was. For the sake of himself – for Lu Han, he quickly adds, for the sake of Lu Han, he wants to believe so. A stranger’s kindness is unbiased; he knows that. He experienced it firsthand. A stranger will mop up your blood, and a stranger will let your head rest on their lap, and a stranger will listen to you despite your worst times. If that stranger is especially kind, when they become not so strange, they can be loved. And loved some more. He’d give Lu Han this stranger’s kindness: charity without pity, only good intentions. Minseok pockets the money in his shorts and takes the gift bag from Yixing’s hands, managing a small smile when he says, “Let’s go.”

They go to one of the groceries together to buy Lu Han something fizzy to drink and run into Kris. He carries a large Styrofoam box in his hands and is paying for the roast pork when they crowd around him. It’s the pork with the crispy skin, you know. When Kyungsoo cuts it up to serve, he gives the little bones to Minseok to suck on while he watches Kyungsoo cook, just like how Kyungsoo would do with his mother in the kitchen. Baekhyun gets the burnt bits off meats. A delicacy, in his words.

“That’s a lot of food,” Yixing says as they leave the shop. “Can I come over? We bought pineapple cake. Can Minseokkie come over? We can watch T.V. Can I bring drinks?”

Kris smiles softly. Minseok and Baekhyun have always thought he was well handsome. It’s a bit of an unusual smile for Kris, he’s not sure if he's supposed to look straight at it. “Yeah, go ahead, I was planning on that anyways. This is Han’s favourite, so I was like, hey I’ll buy some for tonight – but two makes lonely company, so I bought more in case. Minseok, you can come too. I think Han likes it when you spend the night? He’s still down in the dumps, though.”

“You think he’s doing better?” Minseok asks, hopeful on Kris’s words. To his massive relief, Kris nods.

“Still, doing more won't hurt. You want a piece?”

Minseok sticks his hands into the Styrofoam box and takes out a piece of pork. It tastes good. He hopes Lu Han will think so too.

 

o.0.o

 

He doesn’t know what they’re watching, but he guesses it’s funny because there’s a laugh track.

Yixing and Kris laugh with it too, a can of beer in their hands and empty bowls next to them. Lu Han – Minseok’s glued to his side on the floor in front of the couch, relieved that Lu Han let him stay next to him – is looking much more relaxed with a full belly. Minseok perks up when Lu Han’s hand passes through his hair, the touch warm and soft and everything he’s hoped for in the last few days. He looks up to Lu Han and catches his eye, blinking three times before he ducks his head down with a blush.

Lu Han is wearing his soft sweater today. It’s big on him, just enough so that Minseok can gather some extra into his fists, and soft blue, one of Minseok's favourite colours. It’s also Lu Han’s favourite colour. They share a lot of favourites. He doesn’t pay attention to the screen anymore, just on blue. Lu Han’s arm moves to the coffee table and finds the pineapple cake cut into cubes, takes a piece and pushes it to Minseok’s lips. It’s sweet and crumbly and the inside remarkably pineapple-y; completely worth the trouble it got them into. He wouldn’t mind dealing with that again. Yixing too, Yixing would probably do it ten times again for Lu Han, gun included.

“Gotta pee,” Minseok mumbles as he pushes himself off Lu Han and picks off rice from his clothes. Lu Han doesn’t reply. He hasn’t talked much. Minseok just wants to stick his hands into his brain and find the words and thoughts he won’t let out.

Minseok heads for Lu Han’s bedroom instead of the bathroom. He notes the cleanliness of it, almost too perfect, too unsettling, and sits on the mattress. The tissue box? No, there’s – his heart skips a beat whenever he sees it, even if it was there early this morning – still Minseok’s picture in it. Desk? Lu Han might not find it. The pillow. Yes, the pillow. Minseok takes the fifteen dollars out from his pockets and puts the two bills under Lu Han’s pillow, smoothing the paper and the pillowcase too.

If Minseok can’t sleep with Lu Han tonight, then let kindness carry him to sleep instead.

He takes a few moments to re-asses the bedroom. The photo boxes he so carefully stored away are intact, Lu Han’s wardrobe is in top shape, and his desk drawers are back in place with colour pencil to fill in the chipped paint from the wood. His walls are empty, however. While cleaning up, Lu Han put away everything in a box and shoved it under his bed. No more soccer players, no more cats, no more Krises and Yixings, Minseoks and other friends. Minseok might have helped cleaned up the room, but Lu Han’s the one to keep it so… empty. The mooncake box is nowhere to be found. Well, he doesn’t snoop in the drawers because he’s not that nosy.

Still, if there’s Minseok in a tissue box, there’s a shred of hope.

That’s what one part of himself says, anyways. Perhaps he should listen to it, it sounds very rational. Junmyeon told him to be more rational after he’d taken care of Sehun — he took in a long drag of his cigarette, his economics homework strewn on his messy desk, and told Minseok once more to Stop being such a child. Junmyeon isn’t that much of an adult, though. Besides, if he were more rational, and if Lu Han were any more rational, then maybe Sehun would’ve been stuck in hell for longer. And Chanyeol calls him mature these days when they’re both on the sofa, amongst other compliments, and usually at that point Minseok realizes that he’s cuddling with Chanyeol without even knowing. It’s a peculiar feeling of betrayal. It’s all Chanyeol’s fault, he’s too big and tall for his own good.

Another part, however, a very, very loud part of Minseok that always gets him into fights or tears, does not let him listen to anyone else.

And that part isn’t wrong. It’s all very true. It makes Minseok’s worries for Lu Han expand tenfold, and his whole world goes up in flames. He falls on the comforter and keeps thinking, his body melting into the bed and losing its colour, the furniture taking a liking to Dali and going tipsy-turvy. Lu Han, who cried – his eyes are so big, they’re not meant for crying, they’re meant for taking the whole world in and processing it as a Good world – he cried so much without a noise. Minseok couldn’t stop him—couldn’t do a single thing, so why should Lu Han stay? Minseok’s breath leaves him in mist and turns his senses foggy.

Besides, Baekhyun wasn’t wrong; they forgot about the bad and became so good at it that they could be reckless and kiss in abandoned parts of Chinatown. Kiss in empty subway stations. Fool around in bed. They smiled in the face of death several times, however it looked like. Minseok wanted to believe in love so much he had to forget the ugly, the miserable, the fatal, or else he could never see it. Hold it. Have it. And now everything’s shattered.

Minseok’s body disappears with fear, he’s scared beyond comprehension of what will happen. He’s tried to not think of it for the past few days, but he can’t stop it anymore. He hears someone come up the stairs, padding softly on the carpet. The bedroom door creaks open. There's a voice, very muffled, that tries to call through the fog of Minseok’s mind and soul.

He won’t listen.

He’s too scared.

He’s too fucking _scared_.

Minseok falls.

Upwards, or downwards, sideways, no-ways, every way. This part of him is disconnected from his body and let out like a helium balloon into the sky. Hold steady, Minseok says to himself, stay grounded. But he still feels himself slip, then trip, and then (it’s quite horrible) his feet lift, lift, lift, forget gravity, and he’s sent spiralling into the unknown. Not even into sadness. He only falls. Hold steady.

He passes by buildings, all those towering floors, too quickly to look in their windows, then passes into the blue sky – can’t even sober up when the thick layers of clouds drench him. The air becomes thinner, and he tells himself that even without breathing his body will still carry upwards. He sees blue become thinner and thinner until black peers beyond the atmosphere, dotted by the stars. Hold steady, a voice says, stay grounded.

But he doesn’t.

There is the moon. There is Mars. There are asteroids floating and bumping and colliding; he gathers their dust in his hands and lets go at Jupiter, watching their remains scatter in the river of space. There are more moons. There is Saturn. There are the blue planets, Uranus and Neptune, looking like bubble-gum. Hold steady. There is Pluto. Hold steady. There is nothing. Nothing stretches on. You went too far, he tells himself, but I don’t think it matters to us. Me. Matters in general. Stay grounded, a voice pleads, but his feet only find vacuum. They aren’t surprised to be met with nothing, dangling in the open carelessly. Minseok is like that too. He doesn’t care much anymore. There are stars in the far distance. There is no warmth. He is cold.

Don’t let go.

“Birdie,” a voice says from behind a star, “Come back down.”

Minseok blinks, but is still stuck in mires of black.

“Hey, birdie.” A wet hand strokes his cheek and then traces down his arm, starting by his shoulder. “Come back down to me.” Then it takes his own. And it pulls.

Minseok slides forwards and his chin bumps into someone. His chest meets another, his arms bracketing another, and his wet hair is pulled from his eyes. His eyes blink while space fades into something new.

“Ah,” is all he manages to say. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.”

“… Issa bathroom.”

“Yeah.” someone says with honey running through their voice.

There _is_ a bathroom. It’s Kris’s, he notes. There is the Tinkerbell bubble bath liquid he brought over a few days ago on the edge of the bathtub, and white bubbles clinging to his skin. There is even the soap bar that’s been dropped too many times, Kris’s shampoo bottle clearly labeled with his name, and the dwarfed bottle of Tinkerbell body wash. Minseok’s eyes scan the room again and finally settle in front of him.

There is Lu Han, a relieved smile on his face.

“Heya.”

Minseok doesn’t reply, busy looking around and trying to process it as reality. “You back? Two feet on the ground?”

“Mm, two feets in, in th’water.”

“Good. You didn’t even argue when I joked that you should take a bath with me. Took good care of you, you looked so tired. You were out of it for a long time, I thought I was going to lose you, birdie,” Lu Han says softly. He cups his hands in the water and showers Minseok’s head, bubbles falling in rivulets. Minseok feels a bit more awake, all of himself in one body, awake and well. He feels the water below his pink elbows, warm and ever-present, unlike the cold emptiness of space.

“Heya.” Lu Han says once more, Minseok acknowledging it for what it is this time with a lucid head and making a noise. “You wanna know something?”

Minseok blinks, keeping his eyes closed for a long time as an answer. He shifts on Lu Han’s thighs, bubbles warping around him, and settles down comfortably. Like this, they’re almost the same height — he doesn’t have to stare at Lu Han’s nose when looking straight ahead. It’s all towards his eyes. They command Minseok’s attention anyways, but being able to catch his full reflection in Lu Han’s eyes means a lot to him without meaning anything in real life. Maybe he just thinks that Lu Han sees only Minseok like this. If Lu Han could only see himself in Minseok’s teary eyes, then he could know that he’s all Minseok ever looks at.

Lu Han holds Minseok underwater, close enough to wrap his arms around his thin waist. “I’m okay.”

Minseok makes a small noise in question.

“I’m okay, birdie. So, stop worrying, please.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m all okay now,” Lu Han says. His voice is deeper, that’s what happens when he doesn’t talk for long, or when it’s his serious voice. It rumbles on the tiled walls and Minseok can feel it in his chest. He leans forward, resting his cheek on Lu Han’s shoulder, and tries to breathe in; he smells that well known Tinkerbell smell, all that baby powder and flowers and candy, the fading scent of Lu Han’s cheap cologne, and the smell of warm water. He tries to breathe in again. And again. And again. He smells but doesn’t feel like there’s air going into him. Minseok turns his head into the crook of Lu Han’s neck and tries to breathe in again, shakily exhaling when a hand passes through his hair.

“Hannie,” Minseok mumbles into Lu Han’s skin, firmly grounded into reality; although he knows this is real, that Lu Han is real, it doesn’t mean—doesn’t mean that it’s not sad, because it is, it just is. “Don’t go.”

“… Birdie?” Lu Han tries to shrug Minseok off, but he stays in place. His eyes burn again, again and again and again, and oh, Minseok is such a baby, Minseok is so _stupid_. “Seok, look at me.”

“Don’t go,” Minseok pleads, louder. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Don’t go. Don’t leave me, Lu Han, don’t leave me, don’t leave us. Please.” His throat hurts and he lifts his head off Lu Han’s shoulder, fat tears dripping down his cheeks one after another. “It’s no good for you, don’t go, don’t—”

His eyes, Lu Han’s big eyes, they swallow Minseok up because he’ll never be able to leave; but his eyes, his big eyes, they can’t always stay with Minseok forever.

Lu Han’s panicking, Minseok’s half-aware of that – keeps on calling out Minseok’s name and frantically wiping his cheeks, stroking his hair and trying to calm him down with no success.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to—I di’n’t want y’t’get hurt, I really didn’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t go—I’ll be good, Lu Han, I’ll be so good, I won’t even hold your hand ousside an’ I won’t blush when you smile, an’ I won’t ask y’to say stupid things to me to make me like you more an’ I won’t kiss you when I think no one sees, and I, I, I won’t—” Minseok sobs, his cries hitching on sobs and his hands pushing his tears back into his eyes, and Minseok cries, he cries for real, he cries so much he’ll pass out because he’s just a stupid crybaby who tries but never helps. “You’re—y’hafta stay, you’ll be so sad—you’re so sad, I don’t want you to go or else I won’t—I can’t help you, I wanna be good but I can’t—”

“Birdie, stop— please stop, listen to me—hey, don’t—”

Lu Han grabs the sides of Minseok’s head and for some reason, Minseok listens. He looks into Lu Han’s eyes and sees emotion without a name. It’s just raw _emotion_. He lets out a sob, breathes in twice and out once, but doesn’t move otherwise. His lips tremble, but Lu Han—he kisses it better, holds the back of Minseok’s head like he’s scared to have Minseok fall apart in his arms, kisses like cold water on a summer day on Minseok’s open lips, lets him drink sweet freshwater to calm his tears.

“Good, birdie, you’re good enough,” Lu Han mumbles against his lips. “You’re the world. Don’t be sorry, poor birdie, don’t be sorry.”

Minseok drops his hands into the water, leaning forwards using Lu Han’s thighs as leverage, wanting to hear more, wanting to be closer. Closer. He sniffles and more tears fall from his eyes.

“… Minseok,” His real name means that it comes from Lu Han’s heart, however quietly and hoarsely it’s said. “I’m getting disowned.”

Minseok’s breath gets stuck in his throat, but something about Lu Han’s voice is calm and soothing, throwing him off balance. “My brother too. I’ve thought about it over the days, and now I know that it doesn’t bother me so much. You know, when I came back from Vancouver, when there was the shooting — I was so scared. I was terrified. But then I picked you up thinking you were some kid going to catch a stray bullet and it was you, and I thought to myself that if I ever had to be scared like that, I’d rather it be with birdie. And I thought that if I had to live through shit, I’d rather it be with you, and Kris, and Yixing. It made me think of you and Kyungsoo, and I thought that yeah, this is how it should be. This is how I’ll be happy, because that’s always when I’m the happiest. So, I can’t leave. I’ll never think of leaving, I—I can’t leave, there’s, there’s my family. Yeah. I have a family here; did you know that?” Minseok shakes his head even if he knows he should nod, because he wants to hear the words from his mouth.

Lu Han cradles his face gently, Minseok’s tear-streaked cheeks filling his palms, and looks at Minseok with teary eyes. “You have to know, because you’re part of it, so I can’t leave you. You know that I'm not gonna leave you, right? Right? Even if your own two feet can't find the ground, mine will be next to yours. Yeah.” He hears Lu Han swallow his tears back. “Need to tell you that."

“Really?” Minseok whispers, closing his eyes when Lu Han swipes across his bottom lip with his thumb.

“Of course.” Lu Han says, Lu Han affirms, Lu Han confirms. “It’s, it’s the least I could do. For you. You and me.”

The tears that fall on Minseok’s cheeks aren’t despairing, aren’t blue, aren’t drowning him.

Lu Han bends down to watch Minseok’s lips saying Sorry, sorry for worrying you, I didn’t mean to. Lu Han’s kissing Minseok because he’s saying sorry with his body, and sorry with the little whispers that come after a kiss under his ear, and sorry because he does, Minseok really truly believes, that Lu Han does love him. Don’t say sorry, Minseok kisses back, don’t say sorry. He tangles himself into Lu Han’s body and kisses You’re the world, you’re the world to me too, you’re a big part of the universe too, the stars, the planets, so much that I’ll lose myself into them a hundred times with the pearls of your tears and a thousand times with your kisses, did you know that, because I think you didn’t. He kisses safety, the love with which Minseok is made, the same heart that loves Kyungsoo and Baekhyun because it’s the best heart Minseok’s ever had, the happiest one, the reddest one; he kisses past his weariness and tired heart, kisses Lu Han’s lips, his cheeks, his nose, the hands he likes so much and every little scar and mark he can find.

His face gets cleaned up, the tear stains wiped off his cheeks and a cold washcloth pressed to his eyes. Minseok finds himself smiling, biting his lips to keep himself from overdoing it. Lu Han has that small smile on his face that means he cares, crossed with amusement and what Minseok thinks is contentment. Lu Han kisses Minseok’s eyelids, the corner of his eyes, his cheeks, his scar, his skin turned blessed by his lips in Minseok’s mind.

Lu Han gets them out from the bathtub and wraps Minseok in a fluffy towel, sitting him on the narrow counter before his legs give out. They kiss slowly and sweetly until they feel like warm cotton blankets on an autumn evening. Every kiss can’t have regret, because they’re promises; just because they’re hidden doesn’t take away from their meaning, just because they’re not supposed to doesn’t mean it’s bad. Lu Han slips on their pyjamas and brushes Minseok’s half-damp hair, toying with the dry and wet strands.

Kris and Yixing are out to drink, according to the whisper by his ear, which leaves the two of them alone. Minseok smiles crookedly, looping his arms around Lu Han’s neck and letting himself get carried out of the bathroom. Lu Han kisses him deeply in the hallway, then at the doorframe of the bedroom, halfway to his bed and while they fall on the bed.

Minseok bounces twice on the mattress and he stretches his arms out, beckoning Lu Han to come closer. His wet hair makes him shudder, but once Lu Han is on top of him he doesn’t feel so cold anymore. He wraps his arms tightly around Lu Han’s shoulders and nuzzles into his neck, feeling peaceful for the first time in days. They lie down like that for a while, the soft comforter and woven blanket around them and their warm chests, all creating real peace. He likes this. Just breathing. And hearing Lu Han breathe too. Lu Han strokes Minseok’s hair and shifts around a few times to get comfortable so that Minseok can rest on his chest, and Lu Han’s chin on Minseok’s head. Minseok can feel the night, the welcome darkness, the lull; and everything he loves about the sleepy night is made better on the grey tartan comforter.

He loves the way Lu Han looks at him, making his heart beat the way it would in a book.

“… Birdie, let me make it up to you,” Lu Han murmurs when they’re pressed against each other comfortably, his lips in Minseok’s hair. “Need your permission.”

“Wha’?”

“Permission,” Lu Han says, that subtle sadness and relief gone from his eyes and replaced with something livelier. Minseok doesn’t know how he keeps up with Lu Han. He’s about to ask what permission, but then Lu Han’s hands are crawling under his shirt, slowly running up and down Minseok’s sides, holding him still for Lu Han to press his lips against his sensitive neck. Minseok blushes, his whole body heating up, and nods slowly. A part of Lu Han looks a bit unsure under those layers of confidence and security, so he takes Lu Han’s hand into his and strokes over his thumb, stammering out a _yes_.

There’s too many ways of loving people; Lu Han’s too scared that Minseok will never feel reassured if he’s lost in that myriad, so he always stands on his tiptoes to catch a new way, better way, bigger way to anchor Minseok by his side, it seems. It works, even if it’s not true or that the reason is too stupid; Minseok wants all of Lu Han. He’s selfish like that.

Lu Han reaches down to cup Minseok’s bottom and pull him up to equal height. His hands stay there while he kisses Minseok with less sweetness and more passion, types of kisses made for rouge lipstick and vermillion nails that always make Minseok’s head spin. Lu Han hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Minseok’s underwear and pulls it down with his shorts. It feels nice to let himself become putty in Lu Han’s hands. It’s like, it’s like he belongs here, on the grey tartan comforter — he belongs between Lu Han’s hands and lips like it’s his second home, and that home will never leave him. And he’ll never dream of leaving it either. He’ll stay long enough to paint the picket fence white and to plant the garden he’ll water every morning or night, stoke the fire in the fireplace, and watch the sunrise and sunset from the bedroom window.

Minseok is turned onto his back and he bends his knees to help Lu Han remove his bunched shorts and underwear. His cotton shirt is pushed up to his armpits and Lu Han grabs him by the waist to drag him to the centre of the mattress before Minseok can hit his head on the headboard, like he usually does, because he’s not spatially aware and all that. Lu Han stares at Minseok for a while before removing the cotton shirt, kissing up his neck when he passes it over his head and then his wrists when he frees Minseok’s arms.

“Hi,” Minseok says once he's settled on the comforter, naked like the day he was born with Lu Han settled between his legs, his read ears buzzing.

“Hello, my birdie.” Lu Han replies, stroking little circles in the insides of Minseok's thighs, running by his old, silver scars.

(When Lu Han says that, it means that Minseok is Lu Han's, and he really, really likes that idea.)

Like always, it starts gently, just enough to ease Minseok into security so that Lu Han can get rougher – not rough in the harsh sense, in the better sense, in the sense that Minseok’s body shakes with need after a few minutes. Lu Han’s too good at this, taking Minseok’s mind apart and making him lose control – making him dazed and only wanting Lu Han, only thinking of Lu Han, only gasping and moaning with every bite and every kiss.

Lu Han has one hand at the side of Minseok’s throat, stroking over the scattered love bites he’s left, and the other at his puffy, pink nipples. Minseok’s managed to get Lu Han’s shirt off him, currently bunching the cotton in his hands above his head as he squirms on the mattress. He twists his hands into the deep blue fabric when Lu Han lays open-mouthed kisses on his neck and slides his hands down. Lu Han presses his thumbs into the crease of his thighs and hips, humming at Minseok’s sensitivity as his hips jerk up and whines once Lu Han’s mouth follows. Minseok brings Lu Han’s shirt down to hide his scarlet face, his moans pitching when Lu Han starts sucking on his thighs.

Lu Han leaves Minseok’s skin for a while to reach over to his shirt, untangling Minseok’s fingers from the cotton and throwing it across the room. Minseok whines, kneeing Lu Han’s ribs as he reaches upwards for the pillow. He buries his face in it, much to Lu Han’s displeasure.

“Come on, birdie, don’t hide yourself. I want to see you,” Lu Han says softly, trying to coax Minseok into letting go.

“No.” Minseok twists himself away from Lu Han’s hands that try to undo his clasp on the pillow. “I cried, I l-look ugly.”

Lu Han finally pries the pillow out of his hands and throws it at the headboard, leaning down by Minseok’s face and studying his features. Minseok’s hands are still lamely above his head and keep trying to twitch closed when Lu Han reaches down to slowly stroke his cock. His red lips part on a high moan and he bucks into Lu Han’s big hand, his thighs trying to close around Lu Han’s body.

“No. You’re always so pretty to me; don’t hide.”

Lu Han leans down to kiss him, teasing circles on the small head of Minseok’s dick. Minseok hears the two bills flutter to the ground but doesn’t care anymore, squirming and kicking out his legs when Lu Han keeps going, sucking on his collarbones and just, just gently holding Minseok’s side with his other hand.

“Don’t kick me after this,” Lu Han suddenly says. Minseok lifts his head up in question, flushed to his chest and breathing harshly. Lu Han smiles in reply, both of his hands now rubbing circles on his stomach, and bends down.

Minseok _almost_ kicks Lu Han.

“Lu— _ah_ — Han, Hannie, wha—” Minseok’s hands scramble down to Lu Han’s head between his legs, gripping his black locks as he trembles. Lu Han kisses the insides of Minseok’s thighs sweetly before he grips the base of his dick and licks up the length teasingly, flattening his tongue at the head before wrapping his lips around it and going down. Minseok’s dick fits easily into Lu Han’s hot mouth; it’s embarrassing but it feels so good at the same time. Lu Han runs his tongue along the length and sucks, leaving Minseok to cry out and arch his back, unable to squirm and escape with his hips pinned down to the bed.

Minseok looks around the room, dazed, as the bedside lamp blurs over his vision. His chest rises sharply with every quick breath he takes and he barely exhales, stomach twisting when he does so like he’s about to hiccup. He tries to close his fingers on something but can barely move them. Lu Han’s hands on his hips are hot hot hot with hot spreading all over him and hot keeping him sprawled on the mattress, else Minseok would’ve curled up by now. Lu Han’s hair tickling the insides of his thighs makes Minseok feel hot hot hot, Lu Han’s head bobbing up and down and Minseok’s thighs clenching around his head makes fire boil in his gut, his tongue pressing just right and his lips just right, and Minseok doesn’t even think he should say just because it’s too much for only a just. His back arches as he moans loudly, sparks of pleasure clawing his skin from the inside, and he wills his eyes to refocus as he digs his head into the mattress.

Minseok dares to look down.

Lu Han’s eyes are on Minseok, the gaze so loving and affectionate, his hands so careful, his mouth moving like it’s rewarding Minseok; his pink lips and red cheeks, his mussed up black hair, the twinkle in his eyes, it makes Minseok’s heart flutter. He hiccups on a moan, unable to shut himself up.

“Stop,” he whines, finally able to weave the comforter between his fingers. “M’close, _stop_.” Minseok closes his eyes and feels tears melt into his cheeks, sniffling every time he breathes and turning his moans into sobs. Lu Han doesn’t stop, even when Minseok’s cock pops out of his mouth – he licks up stripes from base to tip instead and kisses the head, his fingers occupied with his pink balls, Minseok’s small length dripping wet from saliva and precome.

“Don’t wanna come?” Minseok shakes his head, letting out a string of pathetic whimpers. Not yet, not without Lu Han feeling good. “But birdie,” Lu Han moves his hands to his thighs instead, keeping them bent. He kisses a wet line from his left knee to the base of his cock, smiling lovingly. “I want you to come.”

Minseok’s hips twitch and there’s something bubbling in his chest, scratching to burst out. It builds up in his tummy and churns, twisting hot hot hot and finally, when Lu Han takes Minseok in deeply and lets his hips thrust up erratically, explodes. Minseok cries out, his whole body shaking, vision flashing white then dotting black as if he’s about to pass out. His tears are burning on his cheeks, he’s sure they’re boiling. Lu Han keeps his mouth pressed against Minseok’s hips and swallows his release, only stopping when Minseok’s boneless hands flail at the top of his head, begging Lu Han to stop, please, Lu-ge stop, _please_.

Minseok keeps whimpering, trembling under Lu Han’s hands. His knees are finally freed and his legs plop on the mattress. He immediately turns to his side and rubs his legs against each other as if they can ease off the pleasure spiking in his veins. His face finds Lu Han’s lap and he cries into it, body oversensitive and mind spinning out into the furthest ring, carried way, way out. He calms down after what seems like very long to him, probably dozens of seconds in reality.

“Perfect,” He hears Lu Han mutter as he strokes Minseok’s cheek. “Love you so much.”

Minseok turns his head towards Lu Han, eyes half-lidded and lazy, and stares, a funny feeling in his heart.

“You too,” Minseok quietly says, voice trembling and a little too soft. “I, I want y’to feel good too.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, I wanna take care of, um, you too.” He sits himself up and kisses Lu Han, trying to bypass his own feeling of awkwardness. Lu Han slips Minseok into his lap and deepens the kiss, running his thumb up and down from Minseok’s neck to the base of his tailbone, making his skin buzz. It isn’t overwhelming, thankfully; it feels comfortable. Like a fireplace, he thinks idly, with the smell of soot and ashes and snow falling outside.

“There’s something you could do,” Lu Han says, twirling the ends of Minseok’s hair around his finger. He looks a bit nervous. “But you don’t have to, it was just a thought. I don’t really mind—”

“I’ll do it.” Minseok interjects. “I’ll do anythin’.”

There’s something dark in Lu Han’s eyes. His hands dip lower than the tailbone on their way down, and go straight for Minseok’s ass.

“This,” Lu Han says. “Is this okay?”

It takes Minseok fifteen seconds to understand. His mouth drops open and he blinks quickly, cautiously looking down and blushing. Lu Han tucks Minseok’s hair behind his ears in the meantime with one hand, gently massaging Minseok’s butt with the other. Minseok nods in the end, biting the insides of his cheeks.

Lu Han looks like he’s seen heaven’s golden gates and welcomes it with open arms. He pecks Minseok’s lips and reaches over for the pillow. Minseok’s made to lie down on his back again, the pillow nestled under his hips. Lu Han always takes care of Minseok; he’s embarrassed that he can’t say the same. Sure, he’s done a few clumsy handjobs that probably weren’t very nice, in his opinion, but he wants to do more. Minseok stretches his arms out and hooks his fingers into Lu Han’s boxers, pulling down the fabric past his thighs and letting Lu Han do the rest.

“God, you look so good.” Lu Han says after throwing his shorts on the floor, scooting to the right side of the mattress to dig into the drawer of the night table for a condom and the bottle of lube. “Already wrecked for me,” he says when he spreads Minseok’s thighs apart.

One time, when Minseok was seventeen, he lay down on the benches of the locker room and looked at the light fixtures on the ceiling for forty minutes. The light was bright and he could see the dust particles floating in the room. After the forty minutes, Minseok wasn’t looking at the light fixtures anymore; he was melting into them, the light glowing into his chest, the dust particles floating by him and caught in his hands. He looked at them in his palm and decided to count them. Then he got bored of counting, so he decided that every dust particle was something he liked about Lu Han. He never got bored. When he reopened his eyes, it was already six p.m. and Lu Han was gently shaking him awake. “What did you dream of?” Lu Han asked while he changed from soccer practice. Minseok just smiled. “A good dream?” He nodded.

Minseok still remembers the dream. How in his palm was the funny way Lu Han holds his chopsticks and the scrunch by the inner corner of his eyes when he laughs real hard. He could add the way Lu Han whispers the sweetest things to him as he slowly inserts a finger in him, how Lu Han makes sure to hook Minseok’s legs on his shoulders because he doesn’t want Minseok to feel uncomfortable, how Lu Han looks so beautiful when he presses praises into Minseok’s skin, the way Lu Han always looks beautiful; he screws his eyes shut and trembles, his moans swallowed by Lu Han’s mouth.

“How did you know it was a good dream?” Lu Han asked Minseok that evening. He zipped his duffel bag and sat next to Minseok, who was still lying on the bench. It was a dream that never ended, that’s what Minseok thought. Even two years later he has things to add. The fact that Lu Han’s long fingers always take care of Minseok gently, making sure that the stretch never hurts, bringing out the sweetest of the most intense pleasure Minseok’s ever felt.

“Fuck, been thinking about this for so long,” Lu Han tells Minseok as he kisses his knees, aligning himself with his hole. Minseok can feel the head press against his rim and his stomach twists with something that isn’t arousal. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Lu Han pushes in slowly. Even if Minseok took four fingers, one more than usual when they fool around, he can’t be prepared for Lu Han’s size. It hurts. It’s scary. He bites his lips and screws his eyes shut, forgetting to breathe as Lu Han keeps pushing. He feels full in an unnatural way, like he’s impaled on something impossibly hot. Minseok is stretched wider the more Luhan pushes in, and his heart rate starts to increase. He doesn’t say anything, though, keeping his mouth shut. He wants this to be good for Lu Han.

Still nervous, Minseok looks down and feels absolutely terrified. His chest seizes up and he can’t move his legs, his muscles spasming and making the push harder, more painful; he cries out, tears gathering at his eyes, and tries to grip Lu Han’s hips with weak hands once his hips meet Minseok’s ass. Minseok’s body can’t have been made for this, even if he really wants to — it’s going to hurt— break him, even, it’s going to shatter him into a billion pieces.

“N—no, don’t move,” Minseok sobs, pressing against Lu Han’s hips weakly. “N—no—”

“Birdie—”

“—Can’t, I, I—I can’t,” Minseok blabbers, feeling paralyzed from the waist down. “Y-you’re gonna b-break me, y— Ge, Lu-ge, you’re g-gonna break me, please—”

“Birdie, baby, _breathe_.”

Minseok shudders as he takes in a breath, sobbing at the same time; his tears roll down his cheeks and into his ears the more he tilts his head backwards. His exhale is staggered and immediately followed by a sniffle. His hands slip from their weak hold on Lu Han’s hips and fall on the comforter. “Please, please please please please please—”

Lu Han looks a bit constipated as he leans forward and manages to keep his hips immobile, using his right arm for balance while his left hand wipes the tears away from Minseok’s cheek. “I’ll stop if you want,” he says softly, wiping Minseok’s other cheek. Minseok shakes his head in alarm; he won’t let it end like this. He can’t. “No? Okay. Birdie, I’m gonna make you feel real good, okay? I won’t hurt you, not one bit. I promise I won’t.”

Minseok blinks some of his tears away and lifts his head up a bit for Lu Han to kiss him into safety. “Please,” He whispers, not entirely sure of what he’s asking for. “Lu-ge.”

Lu Han does know what Minseok wants – Minseok doesn’t know how Lu Han knows something that Minseok himself doesn’t. Must be another Lu Han thing, he supposes. His hand pulls the few strands of hair out from Minseok’s mouth and pushes his long bangs away from his red face, then wipes the drool away from his mouth. With the gentlest of smiles that relaxes Minseok in an instant, Lu Han boops Minseok’s nose with his forefinger. Minseok blinks at the touch, almost going cross-eyed as he follows the finger, and forgets the painful squeeze in his chest. He starts giggling when Lu Han boops it again, a shy smile on his own lips.

That’s why Minseok’s doing this, he remembers, because it’s gentle, loving Lu Han; the soft warm wind that feels more like a caress than a gale.

He keeps his eyes on Lu Han’s attentive expression as he slowly trails his hand down Minseok’s body. The tips of his fingers grace his neck, trail around his adam’s apple and pretty little bruises, follow the dip of his sternum, circle around his pink nipples and press into them, pinching and rubbing with wet fingers to hear Minseok whine and sniffle, until he flattens his hand out on his stomach. Minseok feels much more relaxed, noticing the painful stretch significantly less. His gaze trails to Lu Han’s big hand covering almost all his slim waist, to the details of his veins and his nails, the waves of skin at his joints and the warmth that seeps into Minseok. He’s only touching the surface of his skin with his palm until he reaches Minseok’s tummy, south of his bellybutton. Minseok is slowly regaining his senses, but he definitely feels _everything_ in the next moment.

Lu Han presses down.

His palm digs into Minseok’s lower tummy and Minseok moans, high pitched and almost a sob, when sharp sparks of pleasure shoot up his veins. He gasps at the second short wave of pleasure when Lu Han shifts his hand, and he tries to understand what’s happening, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut as he feels his body burn red. The pressure subsides for a second, leaving Minseok the time to breathe a bit, until Lu Han’s big, warm, hot, hot hot _hot_ hand presses down even harder and makes Minseok’s hips jolt, thighs jump and his vision flash so white he’s sure Lu Han can see his pupils flicker. He feels Lu Han’s cock move inside of him and cries out, confusedly enjoying it. It almost feels like he’s coming, but he isn’t — his cock leaks precome and tears prickle at his eyes, Lu Han’s name escaping his lips in breathless whispers.

“Jesus, fuck,” Lu Han hisses through his teeth and almost loses balance, taking his hand away to hold himself on the mattress properly. Minseok’s hands scramble to his tummy to replace it, both of his small palms pressing down above his crotch and making Lu Han moan with him. “You like it, don’t you, you like it, your hands pressing down on my cock— God, can I move now?”

“Y-yeah, Lu-ge, f-fuck—” Minseok presses down harder, mewls escaping him with Lu Han’s experimental shallow thrusts, almost able to feel Lu Han’s thick cock draw in and out from the outside.

Minseok’s body rocks on waves of pleasure, his moans increasing in volume and his cries becoming incoherent, mixing Lu Han’s name up with similar syllables and slurring his words, his nails on Lu Han’s back, dragging red marks on his skin when Lu Han pulls out to the tip and slams himself back in. Minseok’s back arches off the mattress from his tailbone to the top of his head, fresh tears rolling down into his ears and wetting the bedsheets. Lu Han swears with every thrust, grabbing Minseok’s hips to slam himself back in and grinding dirty circles whenever Minseok calls out _please Ge, Lu-Ge, please Lu-Ge_ — he bends down to bite Minseok’s neck, leaving a deep mark, and says that Minseok is being such a good, good boy.

If this is a dream right now, he hopes it is one that will last when he wakes up. Pressure builds in his tummy, stronger than before, and every thrust brings Minseok to near completion. Lu Han is close too, his thrusts becoming more erratic but deeper, trying to drag out the pleasure for as long as he can. Minseok shuts up for a few seconds as he looks at Lu Han’s face, feeling more than pleasure blossom inside his chest and lips falling apart to say more than _please_.

Lu Han fucks Minseok until he is compelled to say that Lu Han is making love to him.

Love, Minseok thinks in the softest voice while he cries out at a hard thrust against his prostate, he always wanted to believe in it. Like a dream. A very long dream where you can’t pick reality from fake.

Minseok’s toes curl and his heels dig into Lu Han’s back; he’s close, he’s so close, and Lu Han’s hand is scrambling to stroke his cock, teeth sinking into Minseok’s shoulder and driving him insane.

Minseok’s chest heaves, and when he closes his eyes and lets hot tears escape, he sees Lu Han’s loving expression on the back of his eyelids.

If this were only a teenage love with flames burning bright that get blown out quickly, then let Minseok be part of Lu Han’s youth. Let Minseok be part of that beautiful, nostalgic youth, and let that version of Minseok with his happiest heart and all he had to give live as Lu Han’s young love. If he were the white apple blossoms of those teenage years, that spring, that green and fresh and breathing spring, let it be; Minseok would be content to live as that forever. The happiest ever with Lu Han and his family together. The version of Minseok he always wanted to have as a child.

And if this were to last, last years and years, with the same passion and sparks flying and heart fluttering and tears and happiness and sadness and sunshine rain lightning thunder snow, powdered snow, the snow that fell on Lu Han’s eyelashes that winter night and the snow that froze his skin and made Lu Han’s touches burn, the wind that made a mess of Lu Han’s hair that spring day, any spring day, that wind that is Lu Han and the whirligig that is Minseok spinning in whatever colour the sky may be, that type of love, long lasting love, please let them have it. If that teenage love was spring then the rest of their love must be summer. A long summer. A dream.

There are tears in Minseok’s eyes. They roll down his cheeks and he knows that it’s because something’s tugging at his heart and it hurts. They melt into his face, roll down into his ears, drip down his chin and make a mess of him. The tears won’t stop, and as much as it hurts Minseok he knows that they’re tinted pink, knows that they’re rosewater on his lips and rosewater on Lu Han’s hands as they cradle his face in concern, rosewater on Lu Han’s lips as he kisses him.

Every time Minseok looks into Lu Han’s eyes, he feels that it’s possible for them to last forever, feel forever, be forever.

“You okay?” Lu Han whispers, stilling his movements. “Oh, birdie, you’re crying with your sadness.”

Just please, the rest is up to the universe, to God, to entropy, to whomever or whatever. Minseok’s bottom lip wobbles and he takes in sharp breaths, chest quickly going up and down, until it gives him the momentum to try and seal forever properly forever.

Say love. Say his name. Say love. Say his name. Say:

“I love you,” Minseok whimpers, his hands shaking as they snake up Lu Han’s torso to hold him by the back of his neck, their faces centimetres close. “I— I love you, I love you, I love you, I—”

Lu Han cuts him off with a kiss.

“I know.”

That’s enough for Minseok, for Lu Han, for the world.

“I love you too.”

It takes one more deep thrust aimed at Minseok’s prostate, and Minseok is coming in Lu Han’s hand with a shout, heavy spurts of come dirtying Lu Han’s fingers and tears pouring out from Minseok’s eyes. Lu Han keeps going, pushing Minseok’s sensitivity further and further until he comes with a loud groan, grinding his cock into him to ride out his high. With a sweet kiss, Lu Han gathers Minseok’s trembling body into his lap, cock still inside of him, no doubt watching how Minseok’s eyebrows furrow when Lu Han’s cock reaches in deeply one last time, mewling while his dick dribbles a bit more come. His eyes stay shut as his orgasm stretches on with every touch to his body, with _I love you_ rekindled with every small whisper, and his hips mindlessly moving on their own to feel more complete. Lu Han kisses so good, my birdie, so good for me, I love you, and Minseok mumbles I love you when three minutes have passed, spent by closing his eyes and resting against Lu Han’s shoulder.

Minseok’s eyes flutter shut after Lu Han cleans him up a second time and slips on a pair of clean boxer briefs over his bare hips. He feels good after crying, after kissing, after Lu Han loving him — a sort of glow that keeps him warm and content, his chest full of happiness that eases him into sleep. Lu Han, that world, that universe, finally slips into the clean bed by his side and wraps his arms around him.

“You okay?” Lu Han asks, poking Minseok’s nose.

“Mm.” Minseok breathes in Lu Han’s comforting smell and nods, body feeling heavier and heavier. Lu Han starts to trace Minseok’s nose and the apples of his cheeks, easing him further into sleep. He feels so good, an indescribable sort of good; a universal good that makes his limbs feel like sappy goop. Minseok takes Lu Han’s hand and plops it onto the top of his head, humming when he starts to stroke his hair. When he opens his eyes briefly all he sees is Lu Han’s smile, and he decides to keep them open just to see it longer. Minseok hums in a way that makes his whole chest buzz when Lu Han kisses his forehead, slotting his legs between Lu Han’s and wiggling his toes.

He hears Kris and Yixing enter the apartment, loud and drunk out of their minds, probably, and feels a bit cold when Lu Han hurries to lock the bedroom door. He traces dumb little patterns into Lu Han’s chest when he returns, stuff like hearts and words that Minseok likes, follows his collarbones or the faint outlines of his muscles, or wanders to his arms to press into every beauty mark and drag his nails across his skin because Lu Han’s ticklish and he likes to hear his muffled laughter.

“Gonna sleep?” Lu Han asks, holding Minseok tightly in his arms. In some instances, Minseok would be tempted to say no, but right now, even if Minseok sleeps his dreams will cross over to reality, and reality will cross over to dreams. Dreams, dreams like love, dreams like reality that become reality. Lu Han’s good at that. He’s all Real and Human and Dreams. He’s real but he’s not, he’s real through every instance of eternity but he’s also always here with Minseok. Or that Minseok follows Lu Han through time. That makes him the person to carry Minseok over to dreams, to sleep. The arms he falls into in the dark should always be Lu Han’s.

Two weeks after Lu Han came back, Minseok was tearing petals from a daisy in he-loves-me’s and loves-me-not’s on his stomach, grass swaying around him. Lu Han was flipping through a comic book. “You’re about to fall asleep,” Lu Han noticed when Minseok held loves-me-not between his fingers. “Hey. Come here.” He was pulled to Lu Han’s side to lean onto him, daisy still in hand and eyelids heavy. “Sleep all you want.” Minseok held he-loves-me in his fingers when he shut his eyes, wondering about the dream he was going to have.

A dream about Lu Han, hopefully, that was what Minseok thought. And Minseok thinks so too, tonight. That means it’s a good dream, and sometimes Minseok has bad dreams but that’s okay.

“Did you have a good dream?” Lu Han asked a week ago, tracing flowers between Minseok’s shoulder blades. Minseok shook his head, staring at the wall in front of him. Lu Han stopped for a few seconds, then engulfed Minseok into a tight hug. “Can’t erase the dream, but can I do this?” Minseok shrugged, feeling Lu Han nose up his neck and press a small kiss to his ear lobe. “Come on. Just a dream. Don’t let the bad ones last, that’s what you told me once. Don’t let the bad things get to ya.” Minseok turned around and returned the hug, feeling a little bit better that morning. He found himself saying the same thing a few mornings ago, even if Lu Han wasn’t in the right place to listen. Lu Han has the right to good dreams, good love too.

Minseok hums when Lu Han closes his eyes shut with the faintest touch of his fingers. “What will you dream about?”

“… Mmmsomethin’ ’bout a summer day.”

“A summer day?”

“By th’water.”

“Which day was that?”

“Jes’ some day.” Minseok mutters out, too tired to do otherwise. His body’s weak in a way he likes a lot, and after Lu Han kisses him goodnight, he slips into slumber.

The last thing he hears is, “ _Sweet dreams_.”

 

There’s a thought he wakes up with, the remnant of a dream. He’s awake before Lu Han, still sleepy – but he can still look at Lu Han’s gentle face, the peace in his breathing, and bend his head down to kiss his chest, right where his heart is. Minseok trusts Lu Han’s eyes, his heartbeat, his words, his heart, so he trusts that Lu Han wakes up with the same thought too once he catches sight of Minseok’s body in his arms, love bites marking his butterscotch skin, eyes still a bit puffy from the tears shed last night.

It's loving someone and knowing wholeheartedly, without a doubt and without a white lie, that you're loved with the exact same abandon.

 

o.0.o

 

1981, the riverbed. The area is isolated and sanctioned as a national park. The picnic tables are old and rickety, but the beach is soft sands and smooth stones. Early summer, cool waters but hot sun. A wish is made.

 

“I said, I says that y’gotta flick your wrist.”

“But I am, birdie.”

Minseok presses his lips into a fine line as he watches the stone leave Lu Han’s hand, travel through the warm air, and then sink into the water with a heavy _plop!_

“I just can’t skip stones,” Lu Han sighs. He still bends down and rummages through the water to find a flat stone. The river is still cold and Minseok has lost feeling mid-calf down – but there isn’t much else to do on a May afternoon. Besides, the river, with its calm surface and mirror which bends around the stones that they throw, is too enticing to leave alone.

“Y’do it like this,” Minseok tells Lu Han while he searches for a stone alongside him. His two braids dip into the water when he bends down and drip cold water when he straightens his back, shuddering as the droplets slide down his bare hipbones, his swimsuit, and then his thighs. The stone is about the length of the tip of his thumb to the base of his palm, as wide as three fingers, with a smooth surface so appealing to Minseok that he almost doesn’t want to throw it away – still, he has a job to do. He stretches his right arm out, the stone between his thumb and the curve of his forefinger, and in a swift motion whacks his arm forward and cracks his wrist to send it spiralling across the water, skipping once, twice, thrice, all the way to eight times. Eigthice, Minseok finds himself thinking. Ethice. Eigh-thice?

It makes little plopping noises every time it grazes the water’s surface. Waves move outwards in circles and Minseok feels himself sway with the wind, watching the stone make its way to the open.

“See?”

“I can’t do that.”

“If y’never skip a stone, Han, you’ll never get t’make a wish. That’s sad.”

Lu Han snorts and throws a stone at arm’s length, landing far out in the water.

Minseok’s clothes are neatly folded at the beach behind them, while Lu Han’s shirt is thrown in the sand next to the neat pile. Jongdae and Baekhyun are swimming in the cold water to the left, straying from them. Lu Han joined their trip at the last minute and didn’t bring a swimsuit, so his shorts are getting wet. He doesn’t mind, apparently. The tape player hangs from the side of Minseok’s probably-imitation-since-it-was-inexpensive Speedo swimsuit with a clip, their road trip tape playing some good old tunes.

“Are you doin’ that ’cause you’re frustrated? That’s so immature.” Minseok bends down for another stone and throws it, skipping five times on the water. The look on Lu Han’s face is _hilarious_. Right until he reaches over, hooks his finger down Minseok’s swimsuit, and snaps it on his hips, that is. Minseok yelps and recoils, almost falling in the water. The sting hurts like hell. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph; Seokkie, you’re already crying from that.”

“Am not.” Minseok replies, immediately wiping his eyes and the snot at his nose.

Lu Han laughs, a sprightly sort of sound, and squeezes the nape of Minseok’s neck. It feels endearing, but it also feels teasing. Minseok can’t tell with Lu Han. “Big crybaby.”

“Just skip your goddamn stone already.”

“It’s not gonna work.”

“Come on, Lu Han; if y’skip it jes’ once, only once, I’ll grant you a wish.” Minseok steps closer to him, giving Lu Han a good stone and then sticking to his side, taking his arms and positioning them to throw. “See? Thas’ how your posture’s gotta look like.”

“I don’t know if you can grant me my wish.” Lu Han shifts around, awkward. Minseok still keeps his feet planted in the water.

“I’m sure I can.” He says brightly, smushing his face against Lu Han’s forearm.

“It’s not a wish for someone like you to grant, birdie.”

“But I will.”

Lu Han looks at Minseok, right into his eyes, and Minseok feels electricity spark at the bottom of his spine. When Lu Han smiles, the sparks go up, up up up up, biting at his neck and popping in his brain. Minseok almost lets go of Lu Han, scared by his own reaction.

“I want a passionate love.” Lu Han tells him, a secretive smile on his face.

Minseok’s hands slip away from Lu Han’s arms and hang dumbly at his side as he throws the stone; his stomach makes flips when it first touches the water, flies up then touches it again, flies up then kisses the water one last time before sinking. He thinks he’s going to vomit.

“Oh my god,” Lu Han whispers, taking the cross hanging from his neck and squeezing it. He holds it up and kisses it. “Thank you,” He whispers again, “Thankyouthankyouthankyou--”

Minseok stares. “Oh. You, y’did it.”

“Yeah!”

“Oh.”

“You make a wish too, birdie, it has to work if it did for me—could you believe it, I did it!” Lu Han laughs again in glee and bends down, enthusiastically shoving a stone into Minseok’s small hand and telling him to do it, do it, you can do it.

Hesitant, Minseok raises his arm. His hand doesn’t want to let go. “Birdie, what’s your wish?” Lu Han asks, leaning his elbow on Minseok’s shoulder because he’s always teasing Minseok about his height.

Minseok forgets all his wishes and panics, accidentally throwing the stone. Both he and Lu Han stare in disbelief as the stone skips across the water for what feels like eternity, going far out in the horizon. Twenty-two. Twenty-two times.

A new song starts playing on the tape player, and the fear in Minseok’s heart suddenly dissipates. It flees through the water droplets dripping from his fingers, and warmth floods inside him instead. His eyes can’t tear away from Lu Han suddenly, because, because something. His hair, his eyes, his smile, the kind touch of his hands, his laugh, the really ordinary and dumb things about Lu Han amplified by the opening to the song – and his mind becomes irrational as it creeps into Lu Han’s wish and changes it to make a little room for Minseok’s small self. He brings his hands to his cheeks and finds them to be warm.

“I want a love like a Paul Anka song.” Minseok dazedly says, his eyes boring straight into Lu Han’s.

He blinks slowly as if he’s trying to imprint Lu Han under his eyelids. It’s so weird. Such a weird feeling. He’s a boy, Minseok chastises himself; but he’s Lu Han too. The warm wind picks up and tousles the stray hairs from his messy braids and heats his body to match his blush.

 _Put your head on my shoulder_  
Hold me in your arms, baby  
Squeeze me oh-so-tight  
Show me that you love me too

The tape player swings from his swimsuit and he feels the song in his thighs. Lu Han keeps staring back at Minseok; he looks funny too.

 _Put your lips next to mine, dear_  
Won't you kiss me once, baby?  
Just a kiss goodnight, maybe  
You and I will fall in love (you and I will fall in love)

“… Like that?” Lu Han asks, blushing – why is he blushing? “L-like this song?”

“Y-yeah.”

"Must be nice, I mean – yeah.”

“Y-yeah, I guess.”

Lu Han looks around, shifting from foot to foot, and extends his hand out. “Birdie, are you hungry? I’ll buy you something.”

“O-okay.”

Minseok takes Lu Han’s hand. Lu Han smiles.

Minseok smiles too.

 _Put your head on my shoulder_  
Whisper in my ear, baby  
Words I want to hear  
Tell me, tell me that you love me too (tell me that you love me too)

 

On Thursday, Minseok lights a candle at the Church and makes a prayer that feels more like a wish, because it’ll surely never come true.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and for waiting! the next installment is the summer installment and will be the last chapter. since i got exopress to work on it might take some time, but it will get done, i promise. a chansoo bonus might be in that installement or posted at another time?
> 
> wow did you know that most of this chapter is kissing and emotional dicking
> 
> for all the dramaticism the boys were alright in the end
> 
> big thanks to jangjaeyul again for beta-ing and going on a quotation mark formatting crusade, they're amazing and lovely <3
> 
> do NOT ride on a motorcycle on someone's lap it is dangerous. go see a doctor if you hit your head on a car and made a dent. do NOT stop someone from getting off a grocery cart it is also dangerous you should help them instead. eat your greens
> 
> i was v tired last time i updated and never rly replied to the comments but i still appreciate them a lot so thank you for last time!!! i always re-read them when im sad it's good medicine, you guys are the best, i hope i can continue to do stuff yall like <3 <3 <3


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